THE    MAN   THAT   CORRUPTED 
HADLEYBURG 

AND   OTHER   STORIES 


BY  MARK  TWAIN. 


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NEW   YORK    AND    LONDON  : 
HARPER   &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS. 


S.    L.    CLEMENS 


THE   MAN  THAT 
CORRUPTED    HADLEYBURG 


AND 


OTHER   STORIES  AND  ESSAYS 


BY     MARK     TWAIN 


ILLUSTRATED 


HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 

I9OO 


a 


VI  £ 


Copyright,  1900,  by  OLIVIA  L.  CLEMENS. 
All  rights  reserved. 


M3 
I  9oO 


CONTENTS 


THE  MAN  THAT  CORRUPTED  HADLEYBURG i 

From  Harper's  Magazine 

MY  DEBUT  AS  A  LITERARY  PERSON 84 

From  the  Century 

FROM  THE  "LONDON  TIMES"  OF  1904 128 

From  the  Century 

AT  THE  APPETITE-CURE 147 

From  the  Cosmopolitan 

MY  FIRST  LIE,  AND  How  I  GOT  OUT  OF  IT     ....     167 

From  the  New  York  World 

Is  HE  LIVING  OR  Is  HE  DEAD? 181 

From  the  Cosmopolitan 

THE  ESQUIMAU  MAIDEN'S  ROMANCE 197 

From  the  Cosmopolitan 

How  TO  TELL  A  STORY 225 

From  the  Youth's  Companion 

ABOUT  PLAY-ACTING 235 

From  the  Forum 

CONCERNING  THE  JEWS 252 

From  Harper's  Magazine 

STIRRING  TIMES  IN  AUSTRIA  : 

I. — THE  GOVERNMENT  IN  THE  FRYING-PAN  .     .     .  284 

II. — A  MEMORABLE  SITTING 295 

III. — CURIOUS  PARLIAMENTARY  ETIQUETTE  .     .     .     .  315 

IV. — THE  HISTORIC  CLIMAX 332 

From  Harper's  Magazine 

THE  AUSTRIAN  EDISON  KEEPING  SCHOOL  AGAIN     .     .     .     342 

From  the  Century 

TRAVELLING  WITH  A  REFORMER 348 

From  the  Cosmopolitan 

PRIVATE  HISTORY  OF  THE  "JUMPING  FROG"  STORY   .     .     374 

From  the  North  American  Review 

MY  BOYHOOD  DREAMS 388 

From  McClure's  Magazine 


M101299 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


S.    L.    CLEMENS Frontispiece 

"IT  LIT  UP  HIS  WHOLE  HEAD  WITH  AN   EVIL  JOY  "  .    Facing  p.         2 

"'BUT  IT  WAS  NOT  MY  EDWARD*" "  6 

"GOODSON  LOOKED  HIM  OVER" "  12 

"'READY! — NOW  LOOK  PLEASANT,  PLKASE'"     .     .  24 

"THE  HOUSE  WAS  IN  A  ROARING  HUMOR"    ...  "  54 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  SACRED  NINETEEN "  So 

FAC-SIMILE   OF   A    CENSORED    NEWSPAPER        ....    Page  288 

THE   PARLIAMENT-HOUSE,    VIENNA Facing  p.    294 

DR.    ORTON   LECHER "  300 

SCENE    IN   THE   AUSTRIAN     PARLIAMENT-HOUSE    DUR 
ING  DR.  LECHER'S  TWELVE  HOURS'  SPEECH  .    .        "        308 

CARLOS   WOLF "  324 


THE   MAN   THAT   CORRUPTED 
HADLEYBURG 


THE   MAN  THAT  CORRUPTED  HAD- 
LEYBURG 


i 


IT  was  many  years  ago.  Hadleyburg  was  the 
most  honest  and  upright  town  in  all  the  region 

round  about.  It  had  kept  that  reputation  un- 
smirched  during  three  generations,  and  was  prouder 
of  it  than  of  any  other  of  its  possessions.  It  was  so 
proud  of  it,  and  so  anxious  to  insure  its  perpetua 
tion,  that  it  began  to  teach  the  principles  of  honest 
dealing  to  its  babies  in  the  cradle,  and  made  the 
like  teachings  the  staple  of  their  culture  thence 
forward  through  all  the  years  devoted  to  their 
education.  Also,  throughout  the  formative  years 
temptations  were  kept  out  of  the  way  of  the  young 
people,  so  that  their  honesty  could  have  every 
chance  to  harden  and  solidify,  and  become  a  part 
of  their  very  bone.  I  The  neighboring  towns  were 
jealous  of  this  honorable  supremacy,  and  affected 

i 


to  sneer  at  Hadleyburg's  pride  in  it  and  call  it 
vanity  ;  but  all  the  same  they  were  obliged  to  ac 
knowledge  that  Hadleyburg  was  in  reality  an  in 
corruptible  town ;  and  if  pressed  they  would  also 
acknowledge  that  the  mere  fact  that  a  young  man 
hailed  from  Hadleyburg  was  all  the  recommenda 
tion  he  needed  when  he  went  forth  from  his  natal 
town  to  seek  for  responsible  employment. 

But  at  last,  in  the  drift  of  time,  Hadleyburg  had 
the  i-1  luck  to  offend  a  passing  stranger — possibly 
without  knowing  it,  certainly  without  caring,  for 
Hadleyburg  was  sufficient  unto  itself,  and  cared 
not  a  rap  for  strangers  or  their  opinions.  Still,  it 
would  have  been  well  to  make  an  exception  in 
this  one's  case,  for  he  was  a  bitter  man  and  re 
vengeful.  All  through  his  wanderings  during  a 
whole  year  he  kept  his  injury  in  mind,  and  gave 
all  his  leisure  moments  to  trying  to  invent  a  com 
pensating  satisfaction  for  it.  He  contrived  many 
plans,  and  all  of  them  were  good,  but  none  of  them 
was  quite  sweeping  enough ;  the  poorest  of  them 
would  hurt  a  great  many  individuals,  but  what  he 
wanted  was  a  plan  which  would  comprehend  the 
entire  town,  and  not  let  so  much  as  one  person  es 
cape  unhurt.  At  last  he  had  a  fortunate  idea,  and 
when  it  fell  into  his  brain  it  lit  up  his  whole  head 
with  an  evil  joy.  He  began  to  form  a  plan  at  once, 


[Page  2 


"IT    LIT   UP    HIS   WHOLE    HEAD    WITH    AN    EVIL   JOY" 


saying  to  himself,  "That  is  the  thing  to  do — I  will 
corrupt  the  town." 

Six  months  later  he  went  to  Hadleyburg,  and 
arrived  in  a  buggy  at  the  house  of  the  old  cashier 
of  the  bank  about  ten  at  night.  He  got  a  sack  out 
of  the  buggy,  shouldered  it,  and  staggered  with  it 
through  the  cottage  yard,  and  knocked  at  the  door. 
A  woman's  voice  said  "  Come  in,"  and  he  entered, 
and  set  his  sack  behind  the  stove  in  the  parlor,  say 
ing  politely  to  the  old  lady  who  sat  reading  the 
Missionary  Herald  by  the  lamp : 

"  Pray  keep  your  seat,  madam,  I  will  not  disturb 
you.  There — now  it  is  pretty  well  concealed  ;  one 
would  hardly  know  it  was  there.  Can  I  see  your 
husband  a  moment,  madam  ?" 

No,  he  was  gone  to  Brixton,  and  might  not  re 
turn  before  morning. 

"  Very  well,  madam,  it  is  no  matter.  I  merely 
wanted  to  leave  that  sack  in  his  care,  to  be  deliver 
ed  to  the  rightful  owner  when  he  shall  be  found. 
I  am  a  stranger;  he  does  not  know  me;  I  am  mere 
ly  passing  through  the  town  to-night  to  discharge 
a  matter  which  has  been  long  in  my  mind.  My 
errand  is  now  completed,  and  I  go  pleased  and  a 
little  proud,  and  you  will  never  see  me  again. 
There  is  a  paper  attached  to  the  sack  which  will 
explain  everything.  Good-night,  madam." 


The  old  lady  was  afraid  of  the  mysterious  big 
stranger,  and  was  glad  to  see  him  go.  But  her  curi 
osity  was  roused,  and  she  went  straight  to  the  sack 
and  brought  away  the  paper.  It  began  as  follows: 

"  To  BE  PUBLISHED-,  or,  the  right  man  sought  out  by  pri 
vate  inquiry — either  will  answer.  This  sack  contains  gold 
coin  weighing  a  hundred  and  sixty  pounds  four  ounces — " 

"  Mercy  on  us,  and  the  door  not  locked !" 
Mrs.  Richards  flew  to  it  all  in  a  tremble  and  locked 
it,  then  pulled  down  the  window-shades  and  stood 
frightened,  worried,  and  wondering  if  there  was  any 
thing  else  she  could  do  toward  making  herself  and 
the  money  more  safe.  She  listened  awhile  for  burg 
lars,  then  surrendered  to  curiosity  and  went  back  to 
the  lamp  and  finished  reading  the  paper: 

"  /  am  a  foreigner,  and  am  presently  going  back  to  my  own 
country,  to  remain  there  permanently.  I  am  grateful  to 
America  for  what  I  have  received  at  her  hands  during  my 
long  stay  under  her  flag  ;  and  to  one  of  her  citizens — a  citi 
zen  of  Hadleyburg — /  am  especially  grateful  for  a  great 
kindness  done  me  a  year  or  two  ago.  Two  great  kindnesses, 
in  fact.  I  will  explain.  I  was  a  gambler.  I  say  I  WAS.  / 
was  a  ruined  gambler.  I  arrived  in  this  village  at  night, 
hungry  and  without  a  penny.  I  asked  for  help — in  the  dark  ; 
I  was  ashamed  to  beg  in  the  light.  I  begged  of  the  right 
man.  He  gave  me  twenty  dollars — that  is  to  say,  he  gave 
me  life,  as  I  considered  it.  He  also  gave  me  fortune  ;  for 
out  of  that  money  I  have  made  myself  rich  at  the  gaming- 


table.  And  finally,  a  remark  which  he  made  to  me  has  re 
mained  with  me  to  this  day,  and  has  at  last  conquered  me;  and 
zn  conquering  has  sav^  d  the  remnant  of  my  morals  :  I  shall 
gamble  no  more.  Now  I  have  no  idea  who  that  man  was,  but 
I  want  him  found,  and  I  want  him  to  have  this  money,  to  give 
away,  throw  away,  or  keep,  as  he  pleases.  It  is  merely  my 
way  of  testifying  my  gratitude  to  him.  If  I  could  stay,  I 
would  find  him  myself ;  but  no  matter,  he  will  be  found. 
This  is  an  honest  town,  an  incorruptible  town,  and  I  know  I 
can  trust  it  without  fear.  This  man  can  be  identified  by  the 
remark  which  he  made  to  me  ;  I  feel  persuaded  that  he  will 
remember  it. 

"And  now  my  plan  is  this  :  If  you  prefer  to  conduct  the  in 
quiry  privately,  do  so.  Tell  the  contents  of  this  present  writ 
ing  to  any  one  who  is  likely  to  be  the  right  man.  If  he  shall 
answer,  '  I  am  the  man  ;  the  remark  I  made  was  so-and-so,' 
apply  the  test — to  wit :  open  the  sack,  and  in  it  you  will  find 
a  sealed  envelope  containing  that  remark.  If  the  remark 
mentioned  by  the  candidate  tallies  with  it, give  him  the  money, 
and  ask  no  further  qiiestions,  for  he  is  certainly  the  right 
man. 

"  But  if  you  shall  prefer  a  public  inquiry,  then  publish  this 
present  writing  in  the  local  paper  —  with  these  instructions 
added,  to  wit:  Thirty  days  from  now,  let  the  candidate  ap 
pear  at  the  toivn  -  hall  at  eight  in  the  evening  (Friday],  and 
hand  his  remark,  in  a  sealed  envelope,  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Burgess 
(if  he  will  be  kind  enough  to  act)  ;  and  let  Mr.  Burgess  there 
and  then  destroy  the  seals  of  the  sack,  open  it,  and  see  if  the 
remark  is  correct  ;  if  correct,  let  the  money  be  delivered,  with 
my  sincere  gratitude,  to  my  benefactor  thus  identified." 

Mrs.  Richards  sat  down,  gently  quivering  with 
excitement,  and  was  soon  lost  in  thinkings  —  after 
this  pattern :  "  What  a  strange  thing  it  is !  ... 


And  what  a  fortune  for  that  kind  man  who  set  his 
bread  afloat  upon  the  waters  !  .  ,  .  If  it  had  only 
been  my  husband  that  did  it ! — for  we  are  so  poor, 
so  old  and  poor !  .  .  ."  Then,  with  a  sigh — "  But 
it  was  not  my  Edward  ;  no,  it  was  not  he  that  gave 
a  stranger  twenty  dollars.  It  is  a  pity  too ;  I  see 
it  now.  .  .  ."  Then,  with  a  shudder  —  "But  it  is 
gambler  s  money !  the  wages  of  sin ;  we  couldn't 
take  it ;  we  couldn't  touch  it.  I  don't  like  to  be 
near  it ;  it  seems  a  defilement."  She  moved  to  a 
farther  chair.  ...  "I  wish  Edward  would  come, 
and  take  it  to  the  bank  ;  a  burglar  might  come  at 
any  moment ;  it  is  dreadful  to  be  here  all  alone 
with  it." 

At  eleven  Mr.  Richards  arrived,  and  while  his 
wife  was  saying,  "  I  am  so  glad  you've  come !"  he 
was  saying,  "I'm  so  tired  —  tired  clear  out;  it  is 
dreadful  to  be  poor,  and  have  to  make  these  dismal 
journeys  at  my  time  of  life.  Always  at  the  grind, 
grind,  grind,  on  a  salary — another  man's  slave,  and 
he  sitting  at  home  in  his  slippers,  rich  and  comfort 
able." 

"  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  Edward,  you  know  that; 
but  be  comforted  ;  we  have  our  livelihood  ;  we  have 
our  good  name — " 

"  Yes,  Mary,  and  that  is  everything.  Don't  mind 
my  talk — it's  just  a  moment's  irritation  and  doesn't 


"  BUT   IT    WAS    NOT    MY    EDWARD  " 


mean  anything.  Kiss  me— there,  it's  all  gone  now, 
and  I  am  not  complaining  any  more.  What  have 
you  been  getting?  What's  in  the  sack?" 

Then  his  wife  told  him  the  great  secret.  It  dazed 
him  for  a  moment ;  then  he  said : 

"  It  weighs  a  hundred  and  sixty  pounds?  Why, 
Mary,  it's  for-ty  thou-sand  dollars  —  think  of  it  —  a 
whole  fortune!  Not  ten  men  in  this  village  are 
worth  that  much.  Give  me  the  paper." 

He  skimmed  through  it  and  said : 

"  Isn't  it  an  adventure !  Why,  it's  a  romance ;  it's 
like  the  impossible  things  one  reads  about  in  books, 
and  never  sees  in  life."  He  was  well  stirred  up  now  ; 
cheerful,  even  gleeful.  He  tapped  his  old  wife  on 
the  cheek,  and  said,  humorously,  "Why,  we're  rich, 
Mary,  rich ;  all  we've  got  to  do  is  to  bury  the  money 
and  burn  the  papers.  If  the  gambler  ever  comes  to 
inquire,  we'll  merely  look  coldly  upon  him  and  say: 
*  What  is  this  nonsense  you  are  talking  ?  We  have 
never  heard  of  you  and  your  sack  of  gold  before ;' 
and  then  he  would  look  foolish,  and — 

"  And  in  the  mean  time,  while  you  are  running 
on  with  your  jokes,  the  money  is  still  here,  and  it 
is  fast  getting  along  toward  burglar-time." 

"  True.  Very  well,  what  shall  we  do — make  the 
inquiry  private?  No,  not  that  ;  it  would  spoil  the 
romance.  The  public  method  is  better.  Think 


8    ' 

what  a  noise  it  will  make !  And  it  will  make  all 
the  other  towns  jealous ;  for  no  stranger  would  trust 
such  a  thing  to  any  town  but  Hadleyburg,  and  they 
know  it.  It's  a  great  card  for  us.  I  must  get  to  the 
printing-office  now,  or  I  shall  be  too  late." 

"  But  stop — stop — don't  leave  me  here  alone  with 
it,  Edward!" 

But  he  was  gone.  For  only  a  little  while,  how 
ever.  Not  far  from  his  own  house  he  met  the  edi 
tor-proprietor  of  the  paper,  and  gave  him  the  docu 
ment,  and  said,  "  Here  is  a  good  thing  for  you,  Cox 
—put  it  in." 

"  It  may  be  too  late,  Mr.  Richards,  but  I'll  see." 

At  home  again  he  and  his  wife  sat  down  to  talk 
the  charming  mystery  over ;  they  were  in  no  con 
dition  for  sleep.  The  first  question  was,  Who 
could  the  citizen  have  been  who  gave  the  stranger 
the  twenty  dollars  ?  It  seemed  a  simple  one ; 
both  answered  it  in  the  same  breath — 

"  Barclay  Goodson." 

"  Yes,"  said  Richards,  "he  could  have  done  it, 
and  it  would  have  been  like  him,  but  there's  not 
another  in  the  town." 

"  Everybody  will  grant  that,  Edward  —  grant  it 
privately,  anyway.  For  six  months,  now,  the  village 
has  been  its  own  proper  self  once  more  —  honest, 
"narrow,  self-righteous,  and  stingy." 


"It  is  what  he  always  called  it,  to  the  day  of  his 
death — said  it  right  out  publicly,  too." 

"  Yes,  and  he  was  hated  for  it." 

"  Oh,  of  course  ;  but  he  didn't  care.  I  reckon  he 
was  the  best-hated  man  among  us,  except  the  Rev 
erend  Burgess." 

"Well,  Burgess  deserves  it — -he  will  never  get  an 
other  congregation  here.  Mean  as  the  town  is,  it 
knows  how  to  estimate  him.  Edward,  doesn't  it 
seem  odd  that  the  stranger  should  appoint  Burgess 
to  deliver  the  money?" 

"  Well,  yes— it  does.     That  is— that  is—" 

"Why  so  much  that-w-ing?  Would  you  select 
him?" 

"  Mary,  maybe  the  stranger  knows  him  better 
than  this  village  does." 

"  Much  that  would  help  Burgess !" 

The  husband  seemed  perplexed  for  an  answer;  the 
wile  kept  a  steady  eye  upon  him,  and  waited.  Finally 
Richards  said,  with  the  hesitancy  of  one  who  is  mak 
ing  a  statement  which  is  likely  to  encounter  doubt, 

"  Mary,  Burgess  is  not  a  bad  man." 

His  wife  was  certainly  surprised. 

"  Nonsense  !"  she  exclaimed. 

"  He  is  not  a  bad  man.  I  know.  The  whole 
of  his  unpopularity  had  its  foundation  in  that 
one  thing — the  thing  that  made  so  much  noise." 


10 


"That  'one  thing,'  indeed!  As  if  that  *  one 
thing'  wasn't  enough,  all  by  itself." 

"  Plenty.     Plenty.     Only  he  wasn't  guilty  of  it." 

"  How  you  talk  !  Not  guilty  of  it !  Everybody 
knows  he  was  guilty." 

"  Mary,  I  give  you  my  word — he  was  innocent." 

"  I  can't  believe  it,  and  I  don't.  How  do  you 
know?" 

"  It  is  a  confession.  I  am  ashamed,  but  I  will 
make  it.  I  was  the  only  man  who  knew  he  was 
innocent.  I  could  have  saved  him,  and — and — 
well,  you  know  how  the  town  was  wrought  up — 
I  hadn't  the  pluck  to  do  it.  It  would  have  turned 
everybody  against  me.  I  felt  mean,  ever  so  mean  ; 
but  I  didn't  dare;  I  hadn't  the  manliness  to  face 
that." 

Mary  looked  troubled,  and  for  a  while  was  silent. 
Then  she  said,  stammeringly : 

"  I — I  don't  think  it  would  have  done  for  you* to 
— to —  One  mustn't — er — public  opinion — one  has 
to  be  so  careful — so —  It  was  a  difficult  road,  and 
she  got  mired  ;  but  after  a  little  she  got  started 
again. .  "  It  was  a  great  pity,  but —  Why,  we 
couldn't  afford  it,  Edward  —  we  couldn't  indeed. 
Oh,  I  wouldn't  have  had  you  do  it  for  anything !" 

"  It  would  have  lost  us  the  good-will  of  so  many 
people,  Mary  ;  and  then — and  then—" 


II 


"  What  troubles  me  now  is,  what  he  thinks  of  us/1 
Edward." 

"  He  ?  He  doesn't  suspect  that  I  could  have 
saved  him." 

"  Oh,"  exclaimed  the  wife,  in  a  tone  of  relief,  "  I 
am  glad  of  that.  As  long  as  he  doesn't  know  that 
you  could  have  saved  him,  he — he — -well,  that  makes 
it  a  great  deal  better.  Why,  I  might  have  known 
he  didn't  know,  because  he  is  always  trying  to  be 
friendly  with  us,  as  little  encouragement  as  we  give 
him.  More  than  once  people  have  twitted  me  with 
it.  There's  the  Wilsons,  and  the  Wilcoxes,  and  the 
Harknesses,  they  take  a  mean  pleasure  in  saying, 
'  Your  friend  Burgess,'  because  they  know  it  pesters 
me.  I  wish  he  wouldn't  persist  in  liking  us  so ;  I 
can't  think  why  he  keeps  it  up." 

"  I  can  explain  it.  It's  another  confession.  When 
the  thing  was  new  and  hot,  and  the  town  made  a 
plan  to  ride  him  on  a  rail,  my  conscience  hurt  me 
so  that  I  couldn't  stand  it,  and  I  went  privately  and 
gave  him  notice,  and  he  got  out  of  the  town  and 
staid  out  till  it  was  safe  to  come  back." 

"  Edward !     If  the  town  had  found  it  out—" 

"  Dorit!  It  scares  me  yet,  to  think  of  it.  I  re 
pented  of  it  the  minute  it  was  done ;  and  I  was 
even  afraid  to  tell  you,  lest  your  face  might  betray 
it  to  somebody.  I  didn't  sleep  any  that  night,  for 


12 


Worrying.  But  after  a  few  days  I  saw  that  no  one 
was  going  to  suspect  me,  and  after  that  I  got  to 
feeling  glad  I  did  it.  And  I  feel  glad  yet,  Mary- 
glad  through  and  through." 

"  So  do  I,  now,  for  it  would  have  been  a  dread 
ful  way  to  treat  him.  Yes,  I'm  glad ;  for  really 
you  did  owe  him  that,  you  know.  But,  Ed 
ward,  suppose  it  should  come  out  yet,  some 
day !" 

"It  won't." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  everybody  thinks  it  was  Goodson." 

"  Of  course  they  would  !" 

"  Certainly.  And  of  course  he  didn't  care.  They 
persuaded  poor  old  Sawlsberry  to  go  and  charge  it 
on  him,  and  he  went  blustering  over  there  and  did 
it.  Goodson  looked 'him  over,  like  as  if  he  was 
hunting  for  a  place  on  him  that  he  could  despise 
the  most,  then  he  says,  *  So  you  are  the  Committee 
of  Inquiry,  are  you  ?'  Sawlsberry  said  that  was 
about  what  he  was.  *  Hm.  Do  they  require  par 
ticulars,  or  do  you  reckon  a  kind  of  a  general  an 
swer  will  do?'  'If  they  require  particulars,  I  will 
come  back,  Mr.  Goodson  ;  I  will  take  the  general 
answer  first.'  *  Very  well,  then,  tell  them  to  go  to 
hell — I  reckon  that's  general  enough.  And  I'll  give 
you  some  advice,  Sawlsberry  ;  when  you  come  back 


"GOODSON    LOOKED    HIM    OVER 


13 

for  the  particulars,  fetch  a  basket  to  carry  the  relics 
of  yourself  home  in.' ' 

"Just  like  Goodson  ;  it's  got  all  the  marks.  He 
had  only  one  vanity ;  he  thought  he  could  give 
advice  better  than  any  other  person." 

"  It  settled  the  business,  and  saved  us,  Mary. 
The  subject  was  dropped." 

"  Bless  you,  I'm  not  doubting  that" 

Then  they  took  up  the  gold-sack  mystery  again, 
with  strong  interest.  Soon  the  conversation  began 
to  suffer  breaks — interruptions  caused  by  absorbed 
thinkings.  The  breaks  grew  more  and  more  fre 
quent.  At  last  Richards  lost  himself  wholly  in 
thought.  He  sat  long,  gazing  vacantly  at  the  floor, 
and  by-and-by  he  began  to  punctuate  his  thoughts 
with  little  nervous  movements  of  his  hands  that 
seemed  to  indicate  vexation.  Meantime  his  wife 
too  had  relapsed  into  a  thoughtful  silence,  and  her 
movements  were  beginning  to  show  a  troubled  dis 
comfort.  Finally  Richards  got  up  and  strode  aim 
lessly  about  the  room,  ploughing  his  hands  through 
his  hair,  much  as  a  somnambulist  might  do  who 
was  having  a  bad  dream.  Then  he  seemed  to  ar 
rive  at  a  definite  purpose ;  and  without  a  word  he 
put  on  his  hat  and  passed  quickly  out  of  the  house. 
His  wife  sat  brooding,  with  a  drawn  face,  and  did 
not  seem  to  be  aware  that  she  was  alone.  Now 


and  then  she  murmured,  "  Lead  us  not  into  t.  .  .  . 
but — but — we  are  so  poor,  so  poor !.  .  .  .  Lead  us 
not  into.  .  .  .  Ah,  who  would  be  hurt  by  it  ? — and 
no  one  would  ever  know.  .  .  .  Lead  us.  .  .  ."  The 
voice  died  out  in  mumblings.  After  a  little  she 
glanced  up  and  muttered  in  a  half-frightened,  half- 
glad  way — 

"  He  is  gone!  But,  oh  dear,  he  may  be  too  late 
— too  late.  .  .  .  Maybe  not — maybe  there  is  still 
time."  She  rose  and  stood  thinking,  nervously 
clasping  and  unclasping  her  hands.  A  slight  shud 
der  shook  her  frame,  «and  she  said,  out  of  a  dry 
throat,  "  God  forgive  me — it's  awful  to  think  such 
things — but.  .  .  .  Lord,  how  we  are  made — how 
strangely  we  are  made!" 

She  turned  the  light  low,  and  slipped  stealthily 
over  and  kneeled  down  by  the  sack  and  felt  of  its 
ridgy  sides  with  her  hands,  and  fondled  them  loving 
ly  ;  and  there  was  a  gloating  light  in  her  poor  old 
eyes.  She  fell  into  fits  of  absence  ;  and  came  half 
out  of  them  at  times  to  mutter,  "  If  we  had  only 
waited! — oh,  if  we  had  only  waited  a  little,  and  not 
been  in  such  a  hurry !" 

Meantime  Cox  had  gone  home  from  his  office 
and  told  his  wife  all  about  the  strange  thing  that 
had  happened,  and  they  had  talked  it  over  eagerly, 
and  guessed  that  the  late  Goodson  was  the  only 


15 

man  in  the  town  who  could  have  helped  a  suffer 
ing  stranger  with  so  noble  a  sum  as  twenty  dol 
lars.  Then  there  was  a  pause,  and  the  two  became 
thoughtful  and  silent.  And  by-and-by  nervous  and 
fidgety.  At  last  the  wife  said,  as  if  to  herself, 

ft  Nobody  knows  this  secret  but  the  Richardses 
.  .  .  and  us  ...  nobody." 

The  husband  came  out  of  his  thinkings  with  a 
slight  start,  and  gazed  wistfully  at  his  wife,  whose 
face  was  become  very  pale ;  then  he  hesitatingly 
rose,  and  glanced  furtively  at  his  hat,  then  at  his 
wife — a  sort  of  mute  inquiry.  Mrs.  Cox  swallowed 
once  or  twice,  with  her  hand  at  her  throat,  then  in 
place  of  speech  she  nodded  her  head.  In  a  moment 
she  was  alone,  and  mumbling  to  herself. 

And  now  Richards  and  Cox  were  hurrying  through 
the  deserted  streets,  from  opposite  directions.  They 
met,  panting,  at  the  foot  of  the  printing-office  stairs  ; 
by  the  night-light  there  they  read  each  other's  face. 
Cox  whispered, 

"  Nobody  knows  about  this  but  us  ?" 

The  whispered  answer  was, 

"  Nbt  a  soul — on  honor,  not  a  soul !" 

"  If  it  isn't  too  late  to—" 

The  men  were  starting  up-stairs  ;  at  this  moment 
they  were  overtaken  by  a  boy,  and  Cox  asked, 

"  Is  that  you,  Johnny  ?" 


"  Yes,  sir." 

"You  needn't  ship  the  early  mail — nor  any  mail ; 
wait  till  I  tell  you." 

"  It's  already  gone,  sir." 

"  Gone?"  It  had  the  sound  of  an  unspeakable 
disappointment  in  it. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Time-table  for  Brixton  and  all  the 
towns  beyond  changed  to-day,  sir  —  had  to  get  the 
papers  in  twenty  minutes  earlier  than  common.  I 
had  to  rush;  if  I  had  been  two  minutes  later — " 

The  men  turned  and  walked  slowly  away,  not 
waiting  tcNiear  the  rest.  Neither  of  them  spoke 
during  ten  minutes ;  then  Cox  said,  in  a  vexed  tone, 

"  What  possessed  you  to  be  in  such  a  hurry,  / 
can't  make  out." 

The  answer  was  humble  enough : 

"  I  see  it  now,  but  somehow  I  never  thought, 
you  know,  until  it  was  too  late.  But  the  next 
time—" 

"  Next  time  be  hanged !  It  won't  come  in  a 
thousand-years. " 

Then  the  friends  separated  without  a  good-night, 
and  dragged  themselves  home  witlvthe  gait  of  mor 
tally  stricken  men.  At  their  homes  their  wives  sprang 
up  with  an  eager  "  Well  ?"  -  -  then  saw  the  answer 
with  their  eyes  and  sank  down  sorrowing,  without 
waiting  for  it  to  come  in  words.  In  both  houses  a 


I? 

discussion  followed  of  a  heated  sort — a  new  thing ; 
there  had  been  discussions  before,  but  not  heated 
ones,  not  ungentle  ones.  The  discussions  to-night 
were  a  sort  of  seeming  plagiarisms  of  each  other. 
Mrs.  Richards  said, 

"If  you  had  only  waited,  Edward  —  if  you  had 
only  stopped  to  think;  but  no,  you  must  run 
straight  to  the  printing-office  and  spread  it  all  over 
the  world." 

"  It  said  publish  it." 

"  That  is  nothing ;  it  also  said  do  it  privately,  if 
you  liked.  There,  now — is  that  true,  or  not?" 

"  Why,  yes — yes,  it  is  true  ;  but  when  I  thought 
what  a  stir  it  would  make,  and  what  a  compliment 
it  was  to  Hadleyburg  that  a  stranger  should  trust 
it  so — " 

"  Oh,  certainly,  I  know  all  that ;  but  if  you  had 
only  stopped  to  think,  you  would  have  seen  that 
you  couldn't  find  the  right  man,  because  he  is  in 
his  grave,  and  hasn't  left  chick  nor  child  nor  rela 
tion  behind  him ;  and  as  long  as  the  money  went 
to  somebody  that  awfully  needed  it,  and  nobody 
would  be  hurt  by  it,  and — and— 

She  broke  down,  crying.  Her  husband  tried  to 
think  of  some  comforting  thing  to  say,  and  pres 
ently  came  out  with  this  : 

"  But  after  all,  Mary,  it  must  be  for  the  best — it 


i8 


must  be  ;  we  know  that.  And  we  must  remember 
that  it  was  so  ordered — " 

"  Ordered !  Oh,  everything's  ordered,  when  a 
person  has  to  find  some  way  out  when  he  has  been 
stupid.  Just  the  same,  it  was  ordered  that  the 
money  should  come  to  us  in  this  special  way,  and 
it  was  you  that  must  take  it  on  yourself  to  go  med 
dling  with  the  designs  of  Providence  —  and  who 
gave  you  the  right  ?  It  was  wicked,  that  is  what 
it  was  —  just  blasphemous  presumption,  and  no 
more  becoming  to  a  meek  and  humble  professor 
of— " 

"  But,  Mary,  you  know  how  we  have  been  trained 
all  our  lives  long,  like  the  whole  village,  till  it  is  ab 
solutely  second  nature  to  us  to  stop  not  a  single 
moment  to  think  when  there's  an  honest  thing  to 
be  done — " 

"  Oh,  I  know  it,  I  know  it  —  it's  been  one  ever 
lasting  training  and  training  and  training  in  honesty 
—  honesty  shielded,  from  the  very  cradle,  against 
every  possible  temptation,  and  so  it's  artificial  hon 
esty,  and  weak  as  water  when  temptation  comes,  as 
we  have  seen  this  night.  God  knows  I  never  had 
shade  nor  shadow  of  a  doubt  of  my  petrified  and 
indestructible  honesty  until  now  —  and  now,  under 
the  very  first  big  and  real  temptation,  I  —  Edward, 
it  is  my  belief  that  this  town's  honesty  is  as  rotten 


as  mine  is;  as  rotten  as  yours  is.  It  is  a  mean  town, 
a  hard,  stingy  town,  and  hasn't  a  virtue  in  the  world 
but  this  honesty  it  is  so  celebrated  for  and  so  con 
ceited  about ;  and  so  help  me,  I  do  believe  that  if 
ever  the  day  comes  that  its  honesty  falls  under 
great  temptation,  its  grand  reputation  will  go  to 
ruin  like  a  house  of  cards.  There,  now,  I've  made  - 
confession,  and  I  feel  better ;  I  am  a  humbug,  and 
I've  been  one  all  my  life,  without  knowing  it.  Let 
no  man  call  me  honest  again — I  will  not  have  it." 

"  I—  Well,  Mary,  I  feel  a  good  deal  as  you  do  ; 
I  certainly  do.  It  seems  strange,  too,  so  strange. 
I  never  could  have  believed  it — never." 

A  long  silence  followed ;  both  were  sunk  in 
thought.  At  last  the  wife  looked  up  and  said, 

"  I  know  what  you  are  thinking,  Edward." 

Richards  had  the  embarrassed  look  of  a  person 
who  is  caught. 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  confess  it,  Mary,  but— 

"  It's  no  matter,  Edward,  I  was  thinking  .the  same 
question  myself." 

"  I  hope  so.     State  it." 

"  You  were  thinking,  if  a  body  could  only  guess 
out  what  the  remark  ivas  that  Goodson  made  to  the 
stranger." 

"  It's  perfectly  true.  I  feel  guilty  and  ashamed. 
And  you?" 


20 

"  I'm  past  it.  Let  us  make  a  pallet  here  ;  we've 
got  to  stand  watch  till  the  bank  vault  opens  in  the 
morning  and  admits  the  sack.  .  .  .  Oh,  dear,  oh, 
dear — if  we  hadn't  made  the  mistake  !" 

The  pallet  was  made,  and  Mary  said  : 

"  The  open  sesame  —  what  could  it  have  been? 
I  do  wonder  what  that  remark  could  have  been  ? 
But  come ;  we  will  get  to  bed  now." 

"And  sleep  ?" 

"No;  think." 

"  Yes,  think." 

By  this  time  the  Coxes  too  had  completed  their 
spat  and  their  reconciliation,  and  were  turning  in 
—  to  think,  to  think,  and  toss,  and  fret,  and  worry 
over  what  the  remark  could  possibly  have  been 
which  Goodson  made  to  the  stranded  derelict :  that 
golden  remark ;  that  remark  worth  forty  thousand 
dollars,  cash. 

The  reason  that  the  village  telegraph -office  was 
open  later  than  usual  that  night  was  this :  The 
foreman  of  Cox's  paper  was  the  local  representa 
tive  of  the  Associated  Press.  One  might  say  its 
honorary  representative,  for  it  wasn't  four  times  a 
year  that  he  could  furnish  thirty  words  that  would 
be  accepted.  But  this  time  it  was  different.  His 
despatch  stating  what  he  had  caught  got  an  instant 
answer : 


21 


"  Send  the  whole  thing — all  the  details— twelve  hundred 
words." 


A  colossal  order !  The  foreman  filled  the  bill ; 
and  he  was  the  proudest  man  in  the  State.  By 
breakfast-time  the  next  morning  the  name  of  Had- 
leyburg  the  Incorruptible  was  on  every  lip  in  Amer 
ica,  from  Montreal  to  the  Gulf,  from  the  glaciers  of 
Alaska  to  the  orange-groves  of  Florida ;  and  mill 
ions  and  millions  of  people  were  discussing  the 
stranger  and  his  money-sack,  and  wondering  if  the 
right  man  would  be  found,  and  hoping  some  more 
news  about  the  matter  would  come  soon  —  right 
away. 


II 


Hadleyburg  village  woke  up  world -celebrated- 
astonished — happy — vain.  Vain  beyond  imagina 
tion.  Its  nineteen  principal  citizens  and  their  wives 
went  about  shaking  hands  with  each  other,  and 
beaming,  and  smiling,  and  congratulating,  and  say 
ing  this  thing  adds  a  new  word  to  the  dictionary — 
Hadleyburg \  synonym  for  incorruptible  —  destined 
to  live  in  dictionaries  forever !  And  the  minor  and 
unimportant  citizens  and  their  wives  went  around 
acting  in  much  the  same  way.  Everybody  ran  to 


22 

the  bank  to  see  the  gold -sack;  and  before  noon 
grieved  and  envious  crowds  began  to  flock  in  from 
Brixton  and  all  neighboring  towns ;  and  that  after 
noon  and  next  day  reporters  began  to  arrive  from 
everywhere  to  verify  the  sack  and  its  history  and 
write  the  whole  thing  up  anew,  and  make  dashing 
free-hand  pictures  of  the  sack,  and  of  Richards's 
house,  and  the  bank,  and  the  Presbyterian  church, 
and  the  Baptist  church,  and  the  public  square,  and 
the  town-hall  where  the  test  would  be  applied  and 
the  money  delivered ;  and  damnable  portraits  of 
the  Richardses,  and  Pinkerton  the  banker,  and  Cox, 
and  the  foreman,  and  Reverend  Burgess,  and  the 
postmaster — and  even  of  Jack  Halliday,  who  was 
the  loafing,  good-natured,  no -account,  irreverent 
fisherman,  hunter,  boys'  friend,  stray -dogs'  friend, 
typical  "  Sam  Lawson "  of  the  town.  The  little 
mean,  smirking,  oily  Pinkerton  showed  the  sack  to 
all  comers,  and  rubbed  his  sleek  palms  together 
pleasantly,  and  enlarged  upon  the  town's  fine  old 
reputation  for  honesty  and  upon  this  wonderful 
endorsement  of  it,  and  hoped  and  believed  that* 
the  example  would  now  spread  far  and  wide  over 
the  American  world,  and  be  epoch-making  in  the 
matter  of  moral  regeneration.  And  so  on,  and  so 
on.  ^ 

By  the  end  of  a  week  things  had  quieted  down 


again ;  the  wild  intoxication  of  pride  and  joy  had 
sobered  to  a  soft,  sweet,  silent  delight  —  a  sort  of 
deep,  nameless,  unutterable  content.  All  faces  bore 
a  look  of  peaceful,  holy  happiness. 

Then  a  change  came.  It  was  a  gradual  change : 
so  gradual  that  its  beginnings  were  hardly  noticed  ; 
maybe  were  not  noticed  at  all,  except  by  Jack  Hal- 
liday,  who  always  noticed  everything ;  and  always 
made  fun  of  it,  too,  no  matter  what  it  was.  He 
began  to  throw  out  chaffing  remarks  about  people 
not  looking  quite  so  happy  as  they  did  a  day  or  two 
ago  ;  and  next  he  claimed  that  the  new  aspect  was 
deepening  to  positive  sadness ;  next,  that  it  was 
taking  on  a  sick  look  ;  and  finally  he  said  that  every 
body  was  become  so  moody,  thoughtful,  and  absent- 
minded  that  he  could  rob  the  meanest  man  in  town 
of  a  cent  out  of  the  bottom  of  his  breeches  pocket 
and  not  disturb  his  revery. 

At  this  stage — or  at  about  this  stage — a  saying 
like  this  was  dropped  at  bedtime — with  a  sigh,  usu 
ally — by  the  head  of  each  of  the  nineteen  principal 
households: 

"Ah,  what  could  have  been  the  remark  that  Good- 
son  made !" 

And  straightway  —  with  a  shudder  —  came  this, 
from  the  man's  wife : 

"  Oh,  don't !     What  horrible  thing  are  you  mul- 


ling  in  your  mind?  Put  it  away  from  you,  for  God's 
sake  !" 

But  that  question  was  wrung  from  those  men 
again  the  next  night — and  got  the  same  retort. 
But  weaker. 

And  the  third  night  the  men  uttered  the  question 
yet  again — with  anguish,  and  absently.  This  time 

—  and    the   following  night  —  the  wives   fidgeted 
feebly,  and  tried  to  say  something.     But  didn't. 

And  the  night  after  that  they  found  their  tongues 
and  responded — longingly, 

"Oh,  if  we  could  only  guess  !" 

Halliday's  comments  grew  daily  more  and  more 
sparklingly  disagreeable  and  disparaging.  He  went 
diligently  about,  laughing  at  the  town,  individually 
and  in  mass.  But  his  laugh  was  the  only  one  left 
in  the  village :  it  fell  upon  a  hollow  and  mournful 
vacancy  and  emptiness.  Not  even  a  smile  was  find- 
able  anywhere.  Halliday  carried  a  cigar-box  around 
on  a  tripod,  playing  that  it  was  a  camera,  and  halted 
all  passers  and  aimed  the  thing  and  said,  "  Ready! 

—  now  look  pleasant,  please,"  but  not  even  this 
capital  joke  could  surprise  the  dreary  faces   into 
any  softening. 

So  three  weeks  passed  —  one  week  was  left.  It 
was  Saturday  evening  —  after  supper.  Instead  of 
the  aforetime  Saturday- evening  flutter  and  bustle 


25 

and  shopping  and  larking,  the  streets  were  empty 
and  desolate.  Richards  and  his  old  wife  sat  apart 
in  their  little  parlor — miserable  and  thinking.  This 
was  become  their  evening  habit  now :  the  life-long 
habit  which  had  preceded  it,  of  reading,  knitting, 
and  contented  chat,  or  receiving  or  paying  neigh 
borly  calls,  was  dead  and  gone  and  forgotten,  ages 
ago — two  or  three  weeks  ago  ;  nobody  talked  now, 
nobody  read,  nobody  visited — the  whole  village  sat 
at  home,  sighing,  worrying,  silent.  Trying  to  guess 
out  that  remark. 

The  postman  left  a  letter.  Richards  glanced  list 
lessly  at  the  superscription  and  the  post-mark — un 
familiar,  both  —  and  tossed  the  letter  on  the  table 
and  resumed  his  might-have-beens  and  his  hopeless 
dull  miseries  where  he  had  left  them  off.  Two  or 
three  hours  later  his  wife  got  wearily  up  and  was 
going  away  to  bed  without  a  good-night — custom 
now — but  she  stopped  near  the  letter  and  eyed  it 
awhile  with  a  dead  interest,  then  broke  it  open,  and 
began  to  skim  it  over.  Richards,  sitting  there  with 
his  chair  tilted  back  against  the  wall  and  his  chin 
between  his  knees,  heard  something  fall.  It  was 
his  wife.  He  sprang  to  her  side,  but  she  cried 
out : 

"  Leave  me  alone,  I  am  too  happy.  Read  the 
letter— read  it!" 


26 


He  did.     He  devoured  it,  his  brain  reeling.    The 
letter  was  from  a  distant  State,  and  it  said : 

"  I  am  a  stranger  to  you,  but  no  matter :  I  have  something 
to  telL  I  have  just  arrived  home  from  Mexico,  and  learned 
about  that  episode.  Of  course  yoii  do  not  know  who  made  that 
remark,  but  I  know,  and  I  am  the  only  person  living  who  does 
know.  It  was  GOODSON.  I  knew  him  well,  many  years  ago. 
I  passed  through  your  village  that  very  night,  and  was  his 
guest  till  the  midnight  train  came  along.  I  overheard  him 
make  that  remark  to  the  stranger  in  the  dark  — it  was  in 
Hale  Alley.  He  and  I  talked  of  it  the  rest  of  the  way  home, 
and  while  smoking  in  his  house.  He  mentioned  many  of  your 
villagers  in  the  course  of  his  talk — most  of  them  in  a  very 
uncomplimentary  way,  but  two  or  three  favorably :  among 
these  latter  yourself.  I  say  'favorably '  —  nothing  stronger. 
I  remember  his  saying  he  did  not  actually  LIKE  any  person  in 
the  town — not  one  ;  but  that  you — /  THINK  he  said  you — am 
almost  sure — had  done  him  a  very  great  service  once,  possibly 
without  knowing  the  full  value  of  it,  and  he  wished  he  had  a 
fortune,  he  would  leave  it  to  you  when  he  died,  and  a  curse 
apiece  for  the  rest  of  the  citizens.  Now,  then,  if  it  was  you 
that  did  him  that  service,  you  are  his  legitimate  heir,  and 
entitled  to  the  sack  of  gold.  I  know  that  I  can  trust  to  your 
honor  and  honesty,  for  in  a  citizen  of  Hadleybtirg  these  virtues 
are  an  unfailing  inheritance,  and  so  I  am  going  to  reveal  to 
you  the  remark,  well  satisfied  that  if  you  are  not^  the  right 
man  you  will  seek  and  find  the  right  one  and  see  that  poor 
Goodsons  debt  of  gratitude  for  the  service  referred  tp^  is  paid. 
This  is  the  remark:  'You  ARE  FAR  FROM  BEING  A—BAD 
MAN  :  GO,  AND  REFORM.' 

"  HOWARD  L.  STEPHENSON." 
"  Oh,  Edward,  the  money  is  ours,  and  I  am  so 


27 

grateful,  oh,  so  grateful  —  kiss  me,  dear,  it's  forever 
since  we  kissed  —  and  we  needed  it  so — the  money 
— and  now  you  are  free  of  Pinkerton  and  his  bank, 
and  nobody's  slave  any  more ;  it  seems  to  me  I 
could  fly  for  joy." 

It  was  a  happy  half -hour  that  the  couple  spent 
there  on  the  settee  caressing  each  other;  it  was 
the  old  days  come  again — days  that  had  begun  with 
their  courtship  and  lasted  without  a  break  till  the 
stranger  brought  the  deadly  money.  By-and-by 
the  wife  said  : 

"  Oh,  Edward,  how  lucky  it  was  you  did  him  that 
grand  service,  poor  Goodson !  I  never  liked  him, 
but  I  love  him  now.  And  it  was  fine  and  beautiful 
of  you  never  to  mention  it  or  brag  about  it."  Then, 
with  a  touch  of  reproach,  "  But  you  ought  to  have 
told  me,  Edward,  you  ought  to  have  told  your  wife, 
you  know." 

"  Well,  I — er — well,  Mary,  you  see — 

"  Now  stop  hemming  and  hawing,  and  tell  me 
about  it,  Edward.  I  always  loved  you,  and  now 
I'm  proud  of  you.  Everybody  believes  there  was 
only  one  good  generous  soul  in  this  village,  and 
now  it  turns  out  that  you —  Edward,  why  don't 
you  tell  me  ?" 

«  Well— er— er—     Why,  Mary,  I  can't !" 

"  You  cant?     Why  can't  you  ?" 


"  You  see,  he — well,  he — he  made  me  promise  I 
wouldn't." 

The  wife  looked  him  over,  and  said,  very  slowly, 

"  Made — you — promise?  Edward,  what  do  you 
tell  me  that  for?" 

"  Mary,  do  you  think  I  would  lie  ?" 

She  was  troubled  and  silent  for  a  moment,  then 
she  laid  her  hand  within  his  and  said  : 

"  No  .  .  .  no.  We  have  wandered  far  enough 
from  our  bearings — God  spare  us  that !  In  all  your 
life  you  have  never  uttered  a  lie.  But  now — now 
that  the  foundations  of  things  seem  to  be  crum 
bling  from  under  us,  we — we—  She  lost  her  voice 
for  a  moment,  then  said,  brokenly,  "  Lead  us  not 
into  temptation.  ...  I  think  you  made  the  prom 
ise,  Edward.  Let  it  rest  so.  Let  us  keep  away 
from  that  ground.  Now — that  is  all  gone  by  ;  let 
us  be  happy  again  ;  it  is  no  time  for  clouds." 

Edward  found  it  something  of  an  effort  to  com 
ply,  for  his  mind  kept  wandering  —  trying  to  re 
member  what  the  service  was  that  he  had  done 
Goodson. 

The  couple  lay  JSgig^e  the  most  of  the  night, 
Mary  happy  and  busy,  Edward  busy,  but  not  so 
happy.  Mary  was  planning  what  she  would  do 
with  the  money.  Edward  was  trying  to  recall  that 
service.  At  first  his  conscience  was  sore  on  account 


of  the  lie  he  had  told  Mary — if  it  was  a  lie.  After 
much  reflection — suppose  it  was  a  lie  ?  What  then  ? 
Was  it  such  a  great  matter?  Aren't  we  always  act 
ing  lies?  Then  why  not  tell  them  ?  Look  at  Mary 
—look  what  she  had  done.  While  he  was  hurrying 
off  on  his  honest  errand,  what  was  she  doing  ?  La 
menting  because  the  papers  hadn't  been  destroyed 
and  the  money  kept !  Is  theft  better  than  lying  ? 

That  point  lost  its  sting  —  the  lie  dropped  into 
the  background  and  left  comfort  behind  it.  The 
next  point  came  to  the  front :  had  he  rendered  that 
service?  Well,  here  was  Goodson's  own  evidence 
as  reported  in  Stephenson's  letter;  there  could  be 
no  better  evidence  than  that — it  was  even  proof  that 
he  had  rendered  it.  Of  course.  So  that  point  was 
settled.  .  .  .  No,  not  quite.  He  recalled  with  a 
wince  that  this  unknown  Mr.  Stephenson  was  just 
a  trifle  unsure  as  to  whether  the  performer  of  it  was 
Richards  or  some  other — and,  oh  dear,  he  had  put 
Richardson  his  honor!  He  must  himself  decide 
whither  that  money  must  go — and  Mr.  Stephenson 
was  not  doubting  that  if  he  was  the  wrong  man  he 
would  go  honorably  and  find  the  right  one.  Oh,  it 
was  odious  to  put  a  man  in  such  a  situation  —  ah, 
why  couldn't  Stephenson  have  left  out  that  doubt ! 
What  did  he  want  to  intrude  that  for? 

Further   reflection.     How    did    it    happen    that 


Richards ' s  name  remained  in  Stephenson's  mind 
as  indicating  the  right  man,  and  not  some  other 
man's  name  ?  That  looked  good.  Yes,  that  looked 
very  good.  In  fact,  it  went  on  looking  better  and 
better,  straight  along — until  by-and-by  it  grew  into 
positive  proof.  And  then  Richards  put  the  matter 
at  once  out  of  his  mind,  for  he  had  a  private  in 
stinct  that  a  proof  once  established  is  better  left  so. 
He  was  feeling  reasonably  comfortable  now,  but 
there  was  still  one  other  detail  that  kept  pushing 
itself  on  his  notice  :  of  course  he  had  done  that  ser 
vice — that  was  settled  ;  but  what  was  that  service  ? 
He  must  recall  it — he  would  not  go  to  sleep  till  he 
had  recalled  it ;  it  would  make  his  peace  of  mind 
perfect.  And  so  he  thought  and  thought.  He 
thought  of  a  dozen  things — possible  services,  even 
probable  services— but  none  of  them  seemed  ade 
quate,  none  of  them  seemed  large  enough,  none  of 
them  seemed  worth  the  money — worth  the  fortune 
Goodson  had  wished  he  could  leave  in  his  will. 
And  besides,  he  couldn't  remember  having  done 
them,  anyway.  Now,  then — now,  then — what  kind 
of  a  service  would  it  be  that  would  make  a  man  so 
inordinately  grateful  ?  Ah — the  saving  of  his  soul ! 
That  must  be  it.  Yes,  he  could  remember,  now, 
how  he  once  set  himself  the  task  of  converting 
Goodson,  and  labored  at  it  as  much  as  —  he  was 


going  to  say  three  months ;  but  upon  closer  exam 
ination  it  shrunk  to  a  month,  then  to  a  week,  then 
to  a  day,  then  to  nothing.  Yes,  he  remembered 
now,  and  with  unwelcome  vividness,  that  Goodson 
had  told  him  to  go  to  thunder  and  mind  his  own 
business  —  /^wasn't  hankering  to  follow  Hadley- 
burg  to  heaven ! 

So  that  solution  was  a  failure  —  he  hadn't  saved 
Goodson's  soul.  Richards  was  discouraged.  Then 
after  a  little  came  another  idea :  had  he  saved 
Goodson's  property?  No,  that  wouldn't  do  —  he 
hadn't  any.  His  life?  That  is  it!  Of  course.  Why, 
he  might  have  thought  of  it  before.  This  time  he 
was  on  the  right  track,  sure.  His  imagination-mill 
was  hard  at  work  in  a  minute,  now. 

Thereafter  during  a  stretch  of  two  exhausting 
hours  he  was  busy  saving  Goodson's  life.  He  saved 
it  in  all  kinds  of  difficult  and  perilous  ways.  In 
every  case  he  got  it  saved  satisfactorily  up  to  a 
certain  point ;  then,  just  as  he  was  beginning  to 
get  well  persuaded  that  it  had  really  happened,  a 
troublesome  detail  would  turn  up  which  made  the 
whole  thing  impossible.  As  in  the  matter  of  drown 
ing,  for  instance.  In  that  case  he  had  swum  out  and 
tugged  Goodson  ashore  in  an  unconscious  state  with 
a  great  crowd  looking  on  and  applauding,  but  when 
he  had  got  it  all  thought  out  and  was  just  begin- 


32 

ning  to  remember  all  about  it  a  whole  swarm  of 
disqualifying  details  arrived  on  the  ground :  the 
town  would  have  known  of  the  circumstance,  Mary 
would  have  known  of  it,  it  would  glare  like  a  lime 
light  in  his  own  memory  instead  of  being  an  incon 
spicuous  service  which  he  had  possibly  rendered 
"  without  knowing  its  full  value."  And  at  this 
point  he  remembered  that  he  couldn't  swim,  any 
way. 

Ah — there  was  a  point  which  he  had  been  over 
looking  from  the  start :  it  had  to  be  a  service  which 
he  had  rendered  "  possibly  without  knowing  the  full 
value  of  it."  Why,  really,  that  ought  to  be  an  easy 
hunt  —  much  easier  than  those  others.  And  sure 
enough,  by -and -by  he  found  it.  Goodson,  years 
and  years  ago,  came  near  marrying  a  very  sweet 
and  pretty  girl,  named  Nancy  Hewitt,  but  in  some 
way  or  other  the  match  had  been  broken  off ;  the 
girl  died,  Goodson  remained  a  bachelor,  and  by- 
and-by  became  a  soured  one  and  a  frank  despiser 
of  the  human  species.  Soon  after  the  girl's  death 
the  village  found  out,  or  thought  it  had  found  out, 
that  she  carried  a  spoonful  of  negro  blood  in  her 
veins.  Richards  worked  at  these  details  a  good 
while,  and  in  the  end  he  thought  he  remembered 
things  concerning  them  which  must  have  gotten 
mislaid  in  his  memory  through  long  neglect.  He 


33 

seemed  to  dimly  remember  that  it  was  he  that  /' 
found  out  about  the  negro  blood  ;  that  it  was  he 
that  told  the  village ;  that  the  village  told  Goodson 
where  they  got  it ;  that  he  thus  saved  Goodson 
from  marrying  the  tainted  girl ;  that  he  had  done 
him  this  great  service  "  without  knowing  the  full 
value  of  it,"  in  fact  without  knowing  that  he  was 
doing  it ;  but  that  Goodson  knew  the  value  of  it, 
and  what  a  narrow  escape  he  had  had,  and  so  went 
to  his  grave  grateful  to  his  benefactor  and  wishing 
he  had  a  fortune  to  leave  him.  It  was  all  clear  and 
simple  now,  and  the  more  he  went  over  it  the  more 
luminous  and  certain  it  grew ;  and  at  last,  when  he 
nestled  to  sleep  satisfied  and  happy,  he  remembered 
the  whole  thing  just  as  if  it  had  been  yesterday.  In 
fact,  he  dimly  remembered  Goodson's  telling  him 
his  gratitude  once.  Meantime  Mary  had  spent  six 
thousand  dollars  on  a  new  house  for  herself  and  a 
pair  of  slippers  for  her  pastor,  and  then  had  fallen 
peacefully  to  rest. 

That  same  Saturday  evening  the  postman  had 
delivered  a  letter  to  each  of  the  other  principal 
citizens  —  nineteen  letters  in  all.  No  two  of  the 
envelopes  were  alike,  and  no  two  of  the  superscrip 
tions  were  in  the  same  hand,  but  the  letters  inside 
were  just  like  each  other  in  every  detail  but  one. 
They  were  exact  copies  of  the  letter  received  by 

3 


34 

Richards — handwriting  and  all — and  were  all  signed 
by  Stephenson,  but  in  place  of  Richard's  name  each 
receiver's  own  name  appeared. 

All  night  long  eighteen  principal  citizens  did 
what  their  caste-brother  Richards  was  doing  at  the 
same  time  —  they  put  in  their  energies  trying  to 
remember  what  notable  service  it  was  that  they 
had  unconsciously  done  Barclay  Goodson.  In  no 
case  was  it  a  holiday  job ;  still  they  succeeded. 

And  while  they  were  at  this  work,  which  was 
difficult,  their  wives  put  in  the  night  spending  the 
money,  which  was  easy.  During  that  one  night  the 
nineteen  wives  spent  an  average  of  seven  thousand 
dollars  each  out  of  the  forty  thousand  in  the  sack 
— a  hundred  and  thirty-three  thousand  altogether. 

Next  day  there  was  a  surprise  for  Jack  Halliday. 
He  noticed  that  the  faces  of  the  nineteen  chief  cit 
izens  and  their  wives  bore  that  expression  of  peace 
ful  and  holy  happiness  again.  He  could  not  under 
stand  it,  neither  was  he  able  to  invent  any  remarks 
about  it  that  could  damage  it  or  disturb  it.  And 
so  it  was  his  turn  to  be  dissatisfied  with  life.  His 
private  guesses  at  the  reasons  for  the  happiness 
failed  in  all  instances,  upon  examination.  When  he 
met  Mrs.  Wilcox  and  noticed  the  placid  ecstasy  in 
her  face,  he  said  to  himself,  "  Her  cat  has  had  kit 
tens" —  and  went  and  asked  the  cook;  it  was  not 


35 

so ;  the  cook  had  detected  the  happiness,  but  did 
not  know  the  cause.  When  Halliday  found  the 
duplicate  ecstasy  in  the  face  of  "  Shadbelly  "  Bill- 
son  (village  nickname),  he  was  sure  some  neighbor 
of  Billson's  had  broken  his  leg,  but  inquiry  showed 
that  this  had  not  happened.  The  subdued  ecstasy 
in  Gregory  Yates's  face  could  mean  but  one  thing 
—  he  was  a  mother-in-law  short;  it  was  another 
mistake.  "  And  Pinkerton  —  Pinkerton  —  he  has 
collected  ten  cents  that  he  thought  he  was  going  to 
lose."  And  so  on,  and  so  on.  In  some  cases  the 
guesses  had  to  remain  in  doubt,  in  the  others  they 
proved  distinct  errors.  In  the  end  Halliday  said  to 
himself,  "  Anyway  it  foots  up  that  there's  nineteen 
Hadleyburg  families  temporarily  in  heaven  :  I  don't 
know  how  it  happened  ;  I  only  know  Providence  is 
off  duty  to-day." 

An  architect  and  builder  from  the  next  State  had 
lately  ventured  to  set  up  a  small  business  in  this 
unpromising  village,  and  his  sign  had  now  been 
hanging  out  a  week.  Not  a  customer  yet ;  he  was 
a  discouraged  man,  and  sorry  he  had  come.  But  his 
weather  changed  suddenly  now.  First  one  and  then 
another  chief  citizen's  wife  said  to  him  privately : 

"  Come  to  my  house  Monday  week  —  but  say 
nothing  about  it  for  the  present.  We  think  of 
building." 


36 

He  got  eleven  invitations  that  day.  That  night 
he  wrote  his  daughter  and  broke  off  her  match  with 
her  student.  He  said  she  could  marry  a  mile  higher 
than  that. 

Pinkerton  the  banker  and  two  or  three  other 
well-to-do  men  planned  country-seats — but  waited. 
That  kind  don't  count  their  chickens  until  they 
are  hatched. 

The  Wilsons  devised  a  grand  new  thing — a  fancy- 
dress  ball.  They  made  no  actual  promises,  but  told 
all  their  acquaintanceship  in  confidence  that  they 
were  thinking  the  matter  over  and  thought  they 
should  give  it — "and  if  we  do,  you  will  be  invited, 
of  course."  People  were  surprised,  and  said,  one  to 
another,  "Why,  they  are  crazy,  those  poor  Wilsons, 
they  can't  afford  it."  Several  among  the  nineteen 
said  privately  to  their  husbands,  "It  is  a  good  idea, 
we  will  keep  still  till  their  cheap  thing  is  over,  then 
we  will  give  one  that  will  make  it  sick." 

The  days  drifted  along,  and  the  bill  of  future 
squanderings  rose  higher  and  higher,  wilder  and 
wilder,  more  and  more  foolish  and  reckless.  It 
began  to  look  as  if  every  member  of  the  nineteen 
would  not  only  spend  his  whole  forty  thousand  dol 
lars  before  receiving- day,  but  be  actually  in  debt 
by  the  time  he  got  the  money.  In  some  cases  light 
headed  people  did  not  stop  with  planning  to  spend, 


37 

they  really  spent  —  on  credit.  They  bought  land, 
mortgages,  farms,  speculative  stocks,  fine  clothes, 
horses,  and  various  other  things,  paid  down  the 
bonus,  and  made  themselves  liable  for  the  rest — at 
ten  days.  Presently  the  sober  second  thought 
came,  and  Halliday  noticed-that  a  ghastly  anxiety 
was  beginning  to  show  up  in  a  good  many  faces. 
Again  he  was  puzzled,  and  didn't  know  what  to 
make  of  it.  "  The  Wilcox  kittens  aren't  dead,  for 
they  weren't  born  ;  nobody's  broken  a  leg ;  there's 
no  shrinkage  in  mother-in-laws ;  nothing  has  hap 
pened — it  is  an  insolvable  mystery." 

There  was  another  puzzled  man,  too  —  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Burgess.  For  days,  wherever  he  went,  people 
seemed  to  follow  him  or  to  be  watching  out  for  him  ; 
and  if  he  ever  found  himself  in  a  retired  spot,  a 
member  of  the  nineteen  would  be  sure  to  appear, 
thrust  an  envelope  privately  into  his  hand,  whisper 
"To  be  opened  at  the  town-hall  Friday  evening," 
then  vanish  away  like  a  guilty  thing.  He  was  ex 
pecting  that  there  might  be  one  claimant  for  the 
sack — doubtful,  however,  Goodson  being  dead— 
but  it  never  occurred  to  him  that  all  this  crowd 
might  be  claimants.  When  the  great  Friday  came 
at  last,  he  found  that  he  had  nineteen  envelopes. 


III 


The  town-hall  had  never  looked  finer.  The  plat 
form  at  the  end  of  it  was  backed  by  a  showy  drap 
ing  of  flags ;  at  intervals  along  the  walls  were  fes 
toons  of  flags ;  the  gallery  fronts  were  clothed  in 
flags;  the  supporting  columns  were  swathed  in  flags; 
all  this  was  to  impress  the  stranger,  for  he  would  be 
there  in  considerable  force,  and  in  a  large  degree  he 
would  be  connected  with  the  press.  The  house  was 
full.  The  412  fixed  seats  were  occupied;  also  the 
68  extra  chairs  which  had  been  packed  into  the 
aisles ;  the  steps  of  the  platform  were  occupied ; 
some  distinguished  strangers  were  given  seats  on 
the  platform ;  at  the  horseshoe  of  tables  which 
fenced  the  front  and  sides  of  the  platform  sat  a 
strong  force  of  special  correspondents  who  had 
come  from  everywhere.  It  was  the  best -dressed 
house  the  town  had  ever  produced.  There  were 
some  tolerably  expensive  toilets  there,  and  in  sev 
eral  cases  the  ladies  who  wore  them  had  the  look 
of  being  unfamiliar  with  that  kind  of  clothes.  At 
least  the  town  thought  they  had  that  look,  but  the 
notion  could  have  arisen  from  the  town's  knowl 
edge  of  the  fact  that  these  ladies  had  never  inhab 
ited  such  clothes  before. 


39 

The  gold-sack  stood  on  a  little  table  at  the  front 
of  the  platform  where  all  the  house  could  see  it. 
The  bulk  of  the  house  gazed  at  it  with  a  burning 
interest,  a  mouth-watering  interest,  a  wistful  and 
pathetic  interest ;  a  minority  of  nineteen  couples 
gazed  at  it  tenderly,  lovingly,  proprietarily,  and 
the  male  half  of  this  minority  kept  saying  over  to 
themselves  the  moving  little  impromptu  speeches 
of  thankfulness  for  the  audience's  applause  and 
congratulations  which  they  were  presently  going 
to  get  up  and  deliver.  Every  now  and  then  one 
of  these  got  a  piece  of  paper  out  of  his  vest  pocket 
and  privately  glanced  at  it  to  refresh  his  memory. 

Of  course  there  was  a  buzz  of  conversation  going 
on — there  always  is .  but  at  last  when  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Burgess  rose  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  sack  he  could 

o 

hear  his  microbes  gnaw,  the  place  was  so  still.  He 
related  the  curious  history  of  the  sack,  then  went 
on  to  speak  in  warm  terms  of  Hadleyburg's  old  and 
well-earned  reputation  for  spotless  honesty,  and  of 
the  town's  just  pride  in  this  reputation.  He  said 
that  this  reputation  was  a  treasure  of  priceless 
value ;  that  under  Providence  its  value  had  now 
become  inestimably  enhanced,  for  the  recent  ep 
isode  had  spread  this  fame  far  and  wide,  and  thus 
had  focussed  the  eyes  of  the  American  world  upon 
this  village,  and  made  its  name  for  all  time,  as  he 


40 

hoped  and  believed,  a  synonym  for  commercial  in 
corruptibility.  (Applause^)  "And  who  is  to  be  the 
guardian  of  this  noble  treasure — the  community  as 
a  whole?  No!  The  responsibility  is  individual, 
not  communal.  From  this  day  forth  each  and  every 
one  of  you  is  in  his  own  person  its  special  guar 
dian,  and  individually  responsible  that  no  harm 
shall  come  to  it.  Do  you — does  each  of  you — ac 
cept  this  great  trust  ?  [  Tumultuous  assent. ~\  Then 
all  is  well.  Transmit  it  to  your  children  and  to 
your  children's  children.  To-day  your  purity  is 
beyond  reproach — see  to  it  that  it  shall  remain  so. 
To-day  there  is  not  a  person  in  your  community 
who  could  be  beguiled  to  touch  a  penny  not  his 
own — see  to  it  that  you  abide  in  this  grace.  ["  We 
will!  weivilir^  This  is  not  the  place  to  make 
comparisons  between  ourselves  and  other  commu 
nities —  some  of  them  ungracious  toward  us  ;  they 
have  their  ways,  we  have  ours ;  let  us  be  content. 
[Applause. ,]  I  am  done.  Under  my  hand,  my 
friends,  rests  a  stranger's  eloquent  recognition  of 
what  we  are ;  through  him  the  world  will  always 
henceforth  know  what  we  are.  We  do  not  know 
who  he  is,  but  in  your  name  I  utter  your  gratitude, 
and  ask  you  to  raise  your  voices  in  indorsement." 

The  house  rose  in  a  body  and  made  the  walls 
quake  with  the  thunders  of  its  thankfulness  for  tjie 


41 

space  of  a  long  minute.  Then  it  sat  down,  and 
Mr.  Burgess  took  an  envelope  out  of  his  pocket. 
The  house  held  its  breath  while  he  slit  the  enve 
lope  open  and  took  from  it  a  slip  of  paper.  He 
read  its  contents  —  slowly  and  impressively  —  the 
audience  listening  with  tranced  attention  to  this 
magic  document,  each  of  whose  words  stood  for  an 
ingot  of  gold : 

"'  The  remark  which  I  made  to  the  distressed 
stranger  was  this:  "  You  are  very  far  from  being  a 
bad  man;  go,  and reform ." '  Then  he  continued: 
"  We  shall  know  in  a  moment  now  whether  the  re 
mark  here  quoted  corresponds  with  the  one  con 
cealed  in  the  sack ;  and  if  that  shall  prove  to  be  so 
—  and  it  undoubtedly  will — this  sack  of  gold  be 
longs  to  a  fellow-citizen  who  will  henceforth  stand 
before  the  nation  as  the  symbol  of  the  special  virt 
ue  which  has  made  our  town  famous  throughout 
the  land— Mr.  Billson  !•" 

The  house  had  gotten  itself  all  ready  to  burst 
into  the  proper  tornado  of  applause  ;  but  instead 
of  doing  it,  it  seemed  stricken  with  a  paralysis  ; 
there  was  a  deep  hush  for  a  moment  or  two,  then 
a  wave  of  whispered  murmurs  swept  the  place — of 
about  this  tenor  :  "  Billson  !  oh,  come,  this  is  too  thin ! 
Twenty  dollars  to  a  stranger — or  anybody — Billson! 
Tell  it  to  the  marines!"  And  now  at  this  point  the 


42 

house  caught  its  breath  all  of  a  sudden  in  a  new 
access  of  astonishment,  for  it  discovered  that  where 
as  in  one  part  of  the  hall  Deacon  Billson  was  stand 
ing  up  with  his  head  meekly  bowed,  in  another  part 
of  it  Lawyer  Wilson  was  doing  the  same.  There 
was  a  wondering  silence  now  for  a  while.  Every 
body  was  puzzled,  and  nineteen  couples  were  sur 
prised  and  indignant. 

Billson  and  Wilson  turned  and  stared  at  each 
other.  Billson  asked,  bitingly, 

"  Why  do  you  rise,  Mr.  Wilson  ?" 

"  Because  I  have  a  right  to.  Perhaps  you  will 
be  good  enough  to  explain  to  the  house  why  you 
rise?" 

"  With  great  pleasure.  Because  I  wrote  that 
paper." 

"  It  is  an  impudent  falsity!     I  wrote  it  myself." 

It  was  Burgess's  turn  to  be  paralyzed.  He  stood 
looking  vacantly  at  first  one  of  the  men  and  then 
the  other,  and  did  not  seem  to  know  what  to  do. 
The  house  was  stupefied.  Lawyer  Wilson  spoke 
up,  now,  and  said, 

"  I  ask  the  Chair  to  read  the  name  signed  to  that 
paper." 

That  brought  the  Chair  to  itself,  and  it  read  out 
the  name, 

"'John  Wharton 


43 

"  There  !"  shouted  Billson,  "  what  have  you  got 
to  say  for  yourself,  now  ?  And  what  kind  of  apol 
ogy  are  you  going  to  make  to  me  and  to  this  in 
sulted  house  for  the  imposture  which  you  have 
attempted  to  play  here  ?" 

"  No  apologies  are  due,  sir ;  and  as  for  the  rest 
of  it,  I  publicly  charge  you  with  pilfering  my  note 
from  Mr,  Burgess  and  substituting  a  copy  of  it 
signed  with  your  own  name.  There  is  no  other 
way  by  which  you  could  have  gotten  hold  of  the 
test -remark;  I  alone,  of  living  men,  possessed  the 
secret  of  its  wording." 

There  was  likely  to  be  a  scandalous  state  of  things 
if  this  went  on  ;  everybody  noticed  with  distress 
that  the  short-hand  scribes  were  scribbling  like  mad ; 
many  people  were  crying  "Chair,  Chair!  Order! 
order!"  Burgess  rapped  with  his  gavel,  and  said : 

"  Let  us  not  forget  the  proprieties  due.  There 
has  evidently  been  a  mistake  somewhere,  but  sure 
ly  that  is  all.  If  Mr.  Wilson  gave  me  an  envelope 
— and  I  remember  now  that  he  did — I  still  have  it." 

He  took  one  out  of  his  pocket,  opened  it,  glanced 
at  it,  looked  surprised  and  worried,  and  stood  silent 
a  few  moments.  Then  he  waved  his  hand  in  a 
wandering  and  mechanical  way,  and  made  an  effort 
or  two  to  say  something,  then  gave  it  up,  despond 
ently.  Several  voices  cried  out : 


44 

"  Read  it !  read  it !     What  is  it  ?" 

So  he  began  in  a  dazed  and  sleep-walker  fashion  : 

" '  The  remark  which  I  made  to  the  unhappy  stran 
ger  was  this  :  "  You  are  far  from  being  a  bad  man. 
[The  house  gazed  at  him,  marvelling.]  Go,  and  re 
form'"  [Murmurs:  "Amazing!  what  can  this 
mean  ?"]  This  one,"  said  the  Chair,  "  is  signed 
Thurlow  G.  Wilson." 

"  There  !"  cried  Wilson,  "  I  reckon  that  settles 
it !  I  knew  perfectly  well  my  note  was  pur 
loined." 

"  Purloined  !"  retorted  Billson.  "  I'll  let  you 
know  that  neither  you  nor  any  man  of  your  kid 
ney  must  venture  to — 

The  Chair.  "  Order,  gentlemen,  order !  Take 
your  seats,  both  of  you,  please." 

They  obeyed,  shaking  their  heads  and  grumbling 
angrily.  The  house  was  profoundly  puzzled ;  it 
did  not  know  what  to  do  with  this  curious  emer 
gency.  Presently  Thompson  got  up.  Thompson 
was  the  hatter.  He  would  have  liked  to  be  a  Nine- 
teener  ;  but  such  was  not  for  him  ;  his  stock  of  hats 
was  not  considerable  enough  for  the  position.  He 
said  : 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  make  a 
suggestion,  can  both  of  these  gentlemen  be  right  ? 
I  put  it  to  you,  sir,  can  both  have  happened  to  say 


45 

the  very  same  words  to  the  stranger?  It  seems  to 
me— 

The  tanner  got  up  and  interrupted  him.  The  tan 
ner  was  a  disgruntled  man  ;  he  believed  himself  en 
titled  to  be  a  Nineteener,  but  he  couldn't  get  rec 
ognition.  It  made  him  a  little  unpleasant  in  his 
ways  and  speech.  Said  he  : 

"  Sho,  that's  not  the  point !  That  could  happen 
—  twice  in  a  hundred  years  —  but  not  the  other 
thing.  Neither  of  them  gave  the  twenty  dollars  !" 
(A  ripple  of  applause?) 

Billson.  "/did!' 

Wilson,  "/did!" 

Then  each  accused  the  other  of  pilfering. 

The  Chair.  "  Order !  Sit  down,  if  you  please 
—both  of  you.  Neither  of  the  notes  has  been  out 
of  my  possession  at  any  moment." 

A  Voice.  "  Good— that  settles  that  /" 

The  Tanner.  "  Mr.  Chairman,  one  thing  is  now 
plain :  one  of  these  men  has  been  eavesdropping 
under  the  other  one's  bed,  and  filching  family  se 
crets.  If  it  is  not  unparliamentary  to  suggest  it,  I 
will  remark  that  both  are  equal  to  it.  [The  Chair. 
"Order!  order!"]  I  withdraw  the  remark,  sir,  and 
will  confine  myself  to  suggesting  that  //one  of  them 
has  overheard  the  other  reveal  the  test -remark  to 
his  wife,  we  shall  catch  him  now."  . 


46 

A  Voice.  "  How  ?" 

The  Tanner.  "  Easily.  The  two  have  not  quoted 
the  remark  in  exactly  the  same  words.  You  would 
have  noticed  that,  if  there  hadn't  been  a  consider 
able  stretch  of  time  and  an  exciting  quarrel  inserted 
between  the  two  readings." 

A  Voice.  "  Name  the  difference." 

The  Tanner.  "The  word  very  is  in  Billson's  note, 
and  not  in  the  other." 

Many  Voices.  "  That's  so — he's  right !" 

The  Tanner.  "  And  so,  if  the  Chair  will  examine 
the  test-remark  in  the  sack,  we  shall  know  which  of 
these  two  frauds — {The  Chair.  "Order!"] — which 
of  these  two  adventurers  —  [  The  Chair.  "  Order  ! 
order !"] — which  of  these  two  gentlemen — {laughter 
and  applause'] — is  entitled  to  wear  the  belt  as  being 
the  first  dishonest  blatherskite  ever  bred  in  this 
town — which  he  has  dishonored,  and  which  will  be 
a  sultry  place  for  him  from  now  out  !"  (Vigorous 
applause^) 

Many  Voices.  "  Open  it ! — open  the  sack  !" 

Mr.  Burgess  made  a  slit  in  the  sack,  slid  his  hand 
in  and  brought  out  an  envelope.  In  it  were  a  cou 
ple  of  folded  notes.  He  said  : 

"  One  of  these  is  marked,  '  Not  to  be  examined 
until  all  written  communications  which  have  been 
addressed  to  the  Chair  —  if  any  —  shall  have  been 


47 

read/  The  other  is  marked  '  The  Test'  Allow 
me.  It  is  worded — to  wit  : 

"  *  I  do  not  require  that  the  first  half  of  the  re 
mark  which  was  made  to  me  by  my  benefactor  shall 
be  quoted  with  exactness,  for  it  was  not  striking, 
and  could  be  forgotten  ;  but  its  closing  fifteen  words 
are  quite  striking,  and  I  think  easily  rememberable; 
unless  these  shall  be  accurately  reproduced,  let  the 
applicant  be  regarded  as  an  impostor.  My  bene 
factor  began  by  saying  he  seldom  gave  advice  to 
any  one,  but  that  it  always  bore  the  hall-mark  of 
high  value  when  he  did  give  it.  Then  he  said  this 
— and  it  has  never  faded  from  my  memory :  "  You 
are  far  from  being  a  bad  man — "  ' 

Fifty  Voices.  "  That  settles  it — the  money's  Wil 
son's  !  Wilson!  Wilson!  Speech!  Speech!" 

People  jumped  up  and  crowded  around  Wilson, 
wringing  his  hand  and  congratulating  fervently— 
meantime  the  Chair  was  hammering  with  the  gavel 
and  shouting: 

"  Order,  gentlemen  !  Order !  Order  !  Let  me 
finish  reading,  please."  When  quiet  was  restored, 
the  reading  was  resumed — as  follows  : 

"  *  "  Go,  and  reform  —  or,  mark  my  words — some 
day,  for  your  sins,  you  will  die  and  go  to  hell  or  Had- 
leyblirg — TRY  AND  MAKE  IT  THE  FORMER."  '  " 

A  ghastly  silence  followed.     First  an  angry  cloud 


48 


began  to  settle  darkly  upon  the  faces  of  the  citizen 
ship  ;  after  a  pause  the  cloud  began  to  rise,  and  a 
tickled  expression  tried  to  take  its  place ;  tried  so 
hard  that  it  was  only  kept  under  with  great  and 
painful  difficulty ;  the  reporters,  the  Brixtonites, 
and  other  strangers  bent  their  heads  down  and 
shielded  their  faces  with  their  hands,  and  managed 
to  hold  in  by  main  strength  and  heroic  courtesy. 
At  this  most  inopportune  time  burst  upon  the  still 
ness  the  roar  of  a  solitary  voice — Jack  Halliday's  : 

"  That's  got  the  hall-mark  on  it !" 

Then  the  house  let  go,  strangers  and  all.  Even 
Mr.  Burgess's  gravity  broke  down  presently,  then 
the  audience  considered  itself  officially  absolved 
from  all  restraint,  and  it  made  the  most  of  its  priv 
ilege.  It  was  a  good  long  laugh,  and  a  tempestu 
ously  whole-hearted  one,  but  it  ceased  at  last — long 
enough  for  Mr.  Burgess  to  try  to  resume,  and  for 
the  people  to  get  their  eyes  partially  wiped ;  then 
it  broke  out  again ;  and  afterward  yet  again ;  then 
at  last  Burgess  was  able  to  get  out  these  serious 
words : 

"  It  is  useless  to  try  to  disguise  the  fact — we  find 
ourselves  in  the  presence  of  a  matter  of  grave  im 
port.  It  involves  the  honor  of  your  town,  it  strikes 
at  the  town's  good  name.  The  difference  of  a  single 
word  between  the  test-remarks  offered  by  Mr.  Wil- 


49 

son  and  Mr.  Billson  was  itself  a  serious  thing,  since 
it  indicated  that  one  or  the  other  of  these  gentle 
men  had  committed  a  theft — " 

The  two  men  were  sitting  limp,  nerveless,  crushed ; 
but  at  these  words  both  were  electrified  into  move 
ment,  and  started  to  get  up — 

"  Sit  down  !"  said  the  Chair,  sharply,  and  they 
obeyed.  "  That,  as  I  have  said,  was  a  serious  thing. 
And  it  was  —  but  for  only  one  of  them.  But  the 
matter  has  become  graver ;  for  the  honor  of  both 
is  now  in  formidable  peril.  Shall  I  go  even  further, 
and  say  in  inextricable  peril?  Both  left  out  the 
crucial  fifteen  words."  He  paused.  During  sev 
eral  moments  he  allowed  the  pervading  stillness  to 
gather  and  deepen  its  impressive  effects,  then  add 
ed  :  "  There  would  seem  to  be  but  one  way  where 
by  this  could  happen.  I  ask  these  gentlemen — 
Was  there  collusion? — agreement?" 

A  low  murmer  sifted  through  the  house ;  its  im 
port  was,  "  He's  got  them  both." 

Billson  was  not  used  to  emergencies  ;  he  sat  in  a 
helpless  collapse.  But  Wilson  was  a  lawyer.  He 
struggled  to  his  feet,  pale  and  worried,  and  said  : 

"  I  ask  the  indulgence  of  the  house  while  I  ex 
plain  this  most  painful  matter.  I  am  sorry  to  say 
what  I  am  about  to  say,  since  it  must  inflict  irrepa 
rable  injury  upon  Mr.  Billson,  whom  I  have  always 
4 


esteemed  and  respected  until  now,  and  in  whose 
invulnerability  to  temptation  I  entirely  believed — 
as  did  you  all.  But  for  the  preservation  of  my  own 
honor  I  must  speak — and  with  frankness.  I  confess 
with  shame — and  I  now  beseech  your  pardon  for  it 
—that  I  said  to  the  ruined  stranger  all  of  the  words 
contained  in  the  test-remark,  including  the  dispar 
aging  fifteen.  [Sensation.]  When  the  late  publica 
tion  was  made  I  recalled  them,  and  I  resolved  to 
claim  the  sack  of  coin,  for  by  every  right  I  was  en 
titled  to  it.  Now  I  will  ask  you  to  consider  this 
point,  and  weigh  it  well :  that  stranger's  gratitude 
to  me  that  night  knew  no  bounds ;  he  said  himself 
that  he  could  find  no  words  for  it  that  were  ade 
quate,  and  that  if  he  should  ever  be  able  he  would 
repay  me  a  thousandfold.  Now,  then,  I  ask  you 
this:  could  I  expect  —  could  I  believe  —  could  I 
even  remotely  imagine — that,  feeling  as  he  did,  he 
would  do  so  ungrateful  a  thing  as  to  add  those 
quite  unnecessary  fifteen  words  to  his  test?  —  set  a 
trap  for  me  ? — expose  me  as  a  slanderer  of  my  own 
town  before  my  own  people  assembled  in  a  public 
hall?  It  was  preposterous  ;  it  was  impossible.  His 
test  would  contain  only  the  kindly  opening  clause 
of  my  remark.  Of  that  I  had  no  shadow  of  doubt. 
You  would  have  thought  as  I  did.  You  would  not 
have  expected  a  base  betrayal  from  one  whom  you 


had  befriended  and  against  whom  you  had  commit 
ted  no  offence.  And  so,  with  perfect  confidence, 
perfect  trust,  I  wrote  on  a  piece  of  paper  the  open 
ing  words —  ending  with  'Go,  and  reform/  —  and 
signed  it.  When  I  was  about  to  put  it  in  an  en 
velope  I  was  called  into  my  back  office,  and  with 
out  thinking  I  left  the  paper  lying  open  on  my 
desk."  He  stopped,  turned  his  head  slowly  to 
ward  Billson,  waited  a  moment,  then  added :  "  I 
ask  you  to  note  this :  when  I  returned,  a  little 
later,  Mr.  Billson  was  retiring  by  my  street  door." 
(Sensation) 

In  a  moment  Billson  was  on  his  feet  and  shouting  : 

"  It's  a  lie  !     It's  an  infamous  lie  !" 

The  Chair.  "  Be  seated,  sir !  Mr.  Wilson  has  the 
floor." 

Billson's  friends  pulled  him  into  his  seat  and 
quieted  him,  and  Wilson  went  on : 

"  Those  are  the  simple  facts.  My  note  was  now 
lying  in  a  different  place  on  the  table  from  where  I 
had  left  it.  I  noticed  that,  but  attached  no  impor 
tance  to  it,  thinking  a  draught  had  blown  it  there. 
That  Mr.  Billson  would  read  a  private  paper  was  a 
thing  which  could  not  occur  to  me  ;  he  was  an  hon 
orable  man,  and  he  would  be  above  that.  If  you 
will  allow  me  to  say  it,  I  think  his  extra  word  'very' 
stands  explained  ;  it  is  attributable  to  a  defect  of 


52 

memory.  I  was  the  only  man  in  the  world  who 
could  furnish  here  any  detail  of  the  test-mark — by 
Jwnorable  means.  I  have  finished." 

There  is  nothing  in  the  world  like  a  persuasive 
speech  to  fuddle  the  mental  apparatus  and  upset 
the  convictions  and  debauch  the  emotions  of  an 
audience  not  practised  in  the  tricks  and  delusions 
of  oratory.  Wilson  sat  down  victorious.  The  house 
submerged  him  in  tides  of  approving  applause ; 
friends  swarmed  to  him  and  shook  him  by  the  hand 
and  congratulated  him,  and  Billson  was  shouted 
down  and  not  allowed  to  say  a  word.  The  Chair 
hammered  and  hammered  with  its  gavel,  and  kept 
shouting, 

"  But  let  us  proceed,  gentlemen,  let  us  proceed !" 

At  last  there  was  a  measurable  degree  of  quiet, 
and  the  hatter  said, 

"  But  what  is  there  to  proceed  with,  sir,  but  to 
deliver  the  money?" 

Voices.  "  That's  it !  That's  it !  Come  forward, 
Wilson !" 

The  Hatter.  "  I  move  three  cheers  for  Mr.  Wil 
son,  Symbol  of  the  special  virtue  which — 

The  cheers  burst  forth  before  rje  could  finish  ; 
and  in  the  midst  of  them — and  in  the  midst  of  the 
clamor  of  the  gavel  also — some  enthusiasts  mounted 
Wilson  on  a  big  friend's  shoulder  and  were  going  to 


53 

fetch  him  in  triumph  to  the  platform.     The  Chair's 
voice  now  rose  above  the  noise — 

"  Order!    To  your  places  !    You  forget  that  there 
is  still  a  document  to  be  read."     When  quiet  had 
been  restored  he  took  up  the  document,  and  was 
going  to  read  it,  but  laid  it  down  again,  saying,  "  I 
forgot ;  this  is  not  to  be  read  until  all  written  com 
munications  received  by  me  have  first  been  read." 
He  took  an  envelope  out  of  his  pocket,  removed  its 
enclosure,  glanced  at  it — seemed  astonished — held 
it  out  and  gazed  at  it — stared  at  it. 
Twenty  or  thirty  voices  cried  out : 
"  What  is  it  ?     Read  it !  read  it !" 
And  he  did — slowly,  and  wondering : 
"  *  The  remark  which  I  made  to  the  stranger — 
[Voices.  "Hello!  how's  this?"]  —  was    this:  "You 
are   far  from   being  a  bad  man.     [Voices.   "Great 
Scott !"]    Go,  and  reform."  '    [Voice.  "  Oh,  saw  my 
leg  off !"]      Signed  by  Mr.  Pinkerton  the  banker." 

The  pandemonium  of  delight  which  turned  itself 
loose  now  was  of  a  sort  to  make  the  judicious  weep. 
Those  whose  withers  were  unwrung  laughed  till  the 
tears  ran  down  ;  the  reporters,  in  throes  of  laughter, 
set  down  disordered  pot-hooks  which  would  never 
in  the  world  be  decipherable  ;  and  a  sleeping  dog 
jumped  up,  scared  out  of  its  wits,  and  barked  itself 
crazy  at  .the  turmoil.  All  manner  of  cries  were 


54 

scattered  through  the  din :  "  We're  getting  rich — 
two  Symbols  of  Incorruptibility ! — without  count 
ing  Billson  !"  "  Three  / — count  Shadbelly  in — we 
can't  have  too  many  !"  "  All  right — Billson's  elect 
ed  !"  "Alas,  poor  Wilson — victim  of  two  thieves!" 

A  Powerful  Voice.  "Silence!  The  Chair's  fished 
up  something  more  out  of  its  pocket." 

Voices.  "  Hurrah  !  Is  it  something  fresh?  Read 
it!  read!  read!" 

The  Chair  (reading].  " '  The  remark  which  I 
made,'  etc.  'You  are  far  from  being  a  bad  man. 
Go,'  etc.  Signed,  *  Gregory  Yates.'  " 

Tornado  of  Voices.  "  Four  Symbols  !"  "  'Rah  for 
Yates  !"  "  Fish  again  !" 

The  house  was  in  a  roaring  humor  now,  and 
ready  to  get  all  the  fun  out  of  the  occasion  that 
might  be  in  it.  Several  Nineteeners,  looking  pale 
and  distressed,  got  up  and  began  to  work  their  way 
toward  the  aisles,  but  a  score  of  shouts  went  up : 

"The  doors,  the  doors  —  close  the  doors;  no  In 
corruptible  shall  leave  this  place  !  Sit  down,  every 
body  !" 

The  mandate  was  obeyed. 

"  Fish  again  !     Read  !  read ! 

The  Chair  fished  again,  and  once  more  the  fa- 
miliar  words  began  to  fall  from  its  lips — " '  You 
are  far  from  being  a  bad  man — '  " 


THE    HOUSE    WAS    IN    A    ROARING    HUMOR" 


55 

"  Name  !  name  !     What's  his  name  ?" 

"  *  L.  Ingoldsby  Sargent.'  " 

"  Five  elected  !  Pile  up  the  Symbols  !  Go  on, 
go  on !" 

" '  You  are  far  from  being  a  bad — '  " 

"  Name  !  name  !" 

"  '  Nicholas  Whitworth.'  " 

"  Hooray!  hooray  !  it's  a  symbolical  day  !" 

Somebody  wailed  in,  and  began  to  sing  this 
rhyme  (leaving  out  "  it's")  to  the  lovely  "Mikado" 
tune  of  "  When  a  man's  afraid  of  a  beautiful  maid  " ; 
the  audience  joined  in,  with  joy  ;  then,  just  in  time, 
somebody  contributed  another  line — 

"And  don't  you  this  forget — " 

The  house  roared  it  out.  A  third  line  was  at  once 
furnished — 

"  Corruptibles  far  from  Hadleyburg  are — " 

The  house  roared  that  one  too.  As  the  last  note 
died,  Jack  Halliday's  voice  rose  high  and  clear, 
freighted  with  a  final  line — 

"  But  the  Symbols  are  here,  you  bet !" 

That  was  sung,  with  booming  enthusiasm.  Then 
the  happy  house  started  in  at  the  beginning  and 
sang  the  four  lines  through  twice,  with  immense 


56 

swing  and  dash,  and  finished  up  with  a  crashing 
three-times-three  and  a  tiger  for  "  Hadleyburg  the 
Incorruptible  and  all  Symbols  of  it  which  we  shall 
find  worthy  to  receive  the  hall-mark  to-night." 

Then  the  shoutings  at  the  Chair  began  again,  all 
over  the  place  : 

"  Go  on  !  go  on  !  Read  !  read  some  more  !  Read 
all  you've  got !" 

"That's  it  —  go  on!  We  are  winning  eternal 
celebrity !" 

A  dozen  men  got  up  now  and  began  to  protest. 
They  said  that  this  farce  was  the  work  of  some 
abandoned  joker,  and  was  an  insult  to  the  whole 
community.  Without  a  doubt  these  signatures 
were  all  forgeries — 

"  Sit  down  !  sit  down  !  Shut  up !  You  are  con 
fessing.  We'll  find  your  names  in  the  lot." 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  how  many  of  those  envelopes 
have  you  got  ?" 

The  Chair  counted. 

"  Together  with  those  that  have  been  already 
examined,  there  are  nineteen." 

A  storm  of  derisive  applause  broke  out. 

"  Perhaps  they  all  contain  the  secret.  I  move 
that  you  open  them  all  and  read  every  signature 
that  is  attached  to  a  note  of  that  sort  —  and  read 
also  the  first  eight  words  of  the  note." 


57 

"  Second  the  motion  !" 

It  was  put  and  carried — uproariously.  Then  poor 
old  Richards  got  up,  and  his  wife  rose  and  stood  at 
his  side.  Her  head  was  bent  down,  so  that  none 
might  see  that  she  was  crying.  Her  husband  gave 
her  his  arm,  and  so  supporting  her,  he  began  to 
speak  in  a  quavering  voice : 

"  My  friends,  you  have  known  us  two — Mary  and 
me  —  all  our  lives,  and  I  think  you  have  liked  us 
and  respected  us — 

The  Chair  interrupted  him  : 

"  Allow  me.  It  is  quite  true — that  which  you  are 
saying,  Mr.  Richards  ;  this  town  does  know  you  two  ; 
it  does  like  you  ;  it  does  respect  you  ;  more — it  hon 
ors  you  and  loves  you — " 

Halliday's  voice  rang  out : 

"  That's  the  hall-marked  truth,  too  !  If  the  Chair 
is  right,  let  the  house  speak  up  and  say  it.  Rise  ! 
Now,  then — hip  !  hip!  hip  ! — all  together!" 

The  house  rose  in  mass,  faced  toward  the  old 
couple  eagerly,  filled  the  air  with  a  snow-storm  of 
waving  handkerchiefs,  and  delivered  the  cheers  with 
all  its  affectionate  heart. 

The  Chair  then  continued  : 

"  What  I  was  going  to  say  is  this:  We  know  your 
good  heart,  Mr.  Richards,  but  this  is  not  a  time  for 
the  exercise  of  charity  toward  offenders.  [Shouts 


58 

of  "  Right !  right !"]  I  see  your  generous  purpose 
in  your  face,  but  I  cannot  allow  you  to  plead  for 
these  men — " 

"  But  I  was  going  to — " 

"  Please  take  your  seat,  Mr.  Richards.  We  must 
examine  the  rest  of  these  notes — simple  fairness  to 
the  men  who  have  already  been  exposed  requires 
this.  As  soon  as  that  has  been  done  —  I  give  you 
my  word  for  this — you  shall  be  heard." 

Many  Voices.  "Right!  —  the  Chair  is  right  —  no 
interruption  can  be  permitted  at  this  stage  !  Go 
on! — the  names!  the  names! — according  to  the 
terms  of  the  motion!" 

The  old  couple  sat  reluctantly  down,  and  the 
husband  whispered  to  the  wife,  "  It  is  pitifully  hard 
to  have  to  wait ;  the  shame  will  be  greater  than 
ever  when  they  find  we  were  only  going  to  plead 
for  ourselves" 

Straightway  the  jollity  broke  loose  again  with  the 
reading  of  the  names. 

"  '  You  are  far  from  being  a  bad  man —  Signa 
ture,  '  Robert  J.  Titmarsh.' 

"  *  You  are  far  from  being  a  bad  man — '  Signa 
ture,  '  Eliphalet  Weeks.' 

"  '  You  are  far  from  being  a  bad  man—  Signa 
ture,  '  Oscar  B.  Wilder.'  " 

At  this  point  the  house  lit  upon  the  idea  of  tak- 


59 

ing  the  eight  words  out  of  the  Chairman's  hands. 
He  was  not  unthankful  for  that.  Thenceforward 
he  held  up  each  note  in  its  turn,  and  waited.  The 
house  droned  out  the  eight  words  in  a  massed  and 
measured  and  musical  deep  volume  of  sound  (with 
a  daringly  close  resemblance  to  a  well-known  church 
chant) — "  '  You  are  f-a-r  from  being  a  b-a-a-a-d  man.'  " 
Then  the  Chair  said,  "  Signature,  *  Archibald  Wil- 
cox.' "  And  so  on,  and  so  on,  name  after  name,  and 
everybody  had  an  increasingly  and  gloriously  good 
time  except  the  wretched  Nineteen.  Now  and 
then,  when  a  particularly  shining  name  was  called, 
the  house  made  the  Chair  wait  while  it  chanted  the 
whole  of  the  test-remark  from  the  beginning  to  the 
closing  words,  "  And  go  to  hell  or  Hadleyburg— 
try  and  make  it  the  for-or-m-e-r!"  and  in  these 
special  cases  they  added  a  grand  and  agonized  and 
imposing  "  A-a-a-a-w<?# /" 

The  list  dwindled,  dwindled,  dwindled,  poor  old 
Richards  keeping  tally  of  the  count,  wincing  when 
a  name  resembling  his  own  was  pronounced,  and 
waiting  in  miserable  suspense  for  the  time  to  come 
when  it  would  be  his  humiliating  privilege  to  rise 
with  Mary  and  finish  his  plea,  which  he  was  intend 
ing  to  word  thus :  "  ...  for  until  now  we  have 
never  done  any  wrong  thing,  but  have  gone  our 
humble  way  unreproached.  We  are  very  poor,  we, 


6o 


are  old,  and  have  no  chick  nor  child  to  help  us;  we 
were  sorely  tempted,  and  we  fell.  It  was  my  pur 
pose  when  I  got  up  before  to  make  confession  and 
beg  that  my  name  might  not  be  read  out  in  this 
public  place,  for  it  seemed  to  us  that  we  could  not 
bear  it ;  but  I  was  prevented.  It  was  just ;  it  was 
our  place  to  suffer  with  the  rest.  It  has  been  hard 
for  us.  It  is  the  first  time  we  have  ever  heard  our 
name  fall  from  any  one's  lips — sullied.  Be  merciful 
— for  the  sake  of  the  better  days  ;  make  our  shame 
as  light  to  bear  as  in  your  charity  you  can."  At 
this  point  in  his  revery  Mary  nudged  him,  perceiv 
ing  that  his  mind  was  absent.  The  house  was  chant 
ing,  "  You  are  f-a~r,"  etc. 

"  Be  ready,"  Mary  whispered.  "  Your  name  comes 
now  ;  he  has  read  eighteen." 

The  chant  ended. 

"  Next !  next !  next !"  came  volleying  from  all 
over  the  house. 

Burgess  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket.  The  old 
couple,  trembling,  began  to  rise.  Burgess  fumbled 
a  moment,  then  said, 

"  I  find  I  have  read  them  all." 

Faint  with  joy  and  surprise,  the  couple  sank  into 
their  seats,  and  Mary  whispered, 

"Oh,  bless  God,  we  are  saved  ! — he  has  lost  ours 
— I  wouldn't  give  this  for  a  hundred  of  those  sacks !" 


6i 


The  house  burst  out  with  its  "  Mikado  "  travesty, 
and  sang  it  three  times  with  ever-increasing  enthu 
siasm,  rising  to  its  feet  when  it  reached  for  the  third 
time  the  closing  line — 

"  But  the  Symbols  are  here,  you  bet !" 

and  finishing  up  with  cheers  and  a  tiger  for  "  Had- 
leyburg  purity  and  our  eighteen  immortal  repre 
sentatives  of  it." 

Then  Wingate,  the  saddler,  got  up  and  proposed, 
cheers  "  for  the  cleanest  man  in  town,  the  one  sol 
itary  important  citizen  in  it  who  didn't  try  to  steal 
that  money — Edward  Richards." 

They  were  given  with  great  and  moving  hearti 
ness  ;  then  somebody  proposed  that  Richards  be 
elected  sole  Guardian  and  Symbol  of  the  now  Sa 
cred  Hadleyburg  Tradition,  with  power  and  right 
to  stand  up  and  look  the  whole  sarcastic  world  in 
the  face." 

Passed,  by  acclamation ;  then  they  sang  the 
"  Mikado"  again,  and  ended  it  with, 

"  And  there's  one  Symbol  left,  you  bet !" 

There  was  a  pause  ;  then — 

A  Voice.  "  Now,  then,  who's  to  get  the  sack?" 

The  Tanner  (with  bitter  sarcasm).  "  That's  easy. 


62 


The  money  has  to  be  divided  among  the  eighteen 
Incorruptibles.  They  gave  the  suffering  stranger 
twenty  dollars  apiece — and  that  remark  —  each  in 
his  turn — it  took  twenty-two  minutes  for  the  pro 
cession  to  move  past.  Staked  the  stranger — total 
contribution,  $360.  All  they  want  is  just  the  loan 
back  —  and  interest  —  forty  thousand  dollars  alto 
gether." 

Many  Voices  (derisively}.  "That's  it!  Divvy! 
divvy!  Be  kind  to  the  poor — don't  keep  them 
waiting!" 

The  Chair.  "  Order !  I  now  offer  the  stranger's 
remaining  document.  It  says:  'If  no  claimant  shall 
appear  [grand  chorus  of  groans],  I  desire  that  you 
open  the  sack  and  count  out  the  money  to  the  pri 
cipal  citizens  of  your  town,  they  to  take  it  in  trus 
[Cries  of"  Oh!  Oh!  Oh!"~],  and  use  it  in  such  ways 
as  to  them  shall  seem  best  for  the  propagation  and 
preservation  of  your  community's  noble  reputation 
for  incorruptible  honesty  [more  cries'] — a  reputation 
to  which  their  names  and  their  efforts  will  add  a 
new  and  far-reaching  lustre.'  [Enthusiastic  outburst 
of  sarcastic  applause, .]  That  seems  to  be  all.  No — 
here  is  a  postscript : 

" '  P.S.— CITIZENS  OF  H ADLEYBURG  :  There  is  no 
test-remark — nobody  made  one.  [Great  sensation^] 
There  wasn't  any  pauper  stranger,  nor  any  twenty- 


uu 

1 

ISt^ 


63 

dollar  contribution,  nor  any  accompanying  bene 
diction  and  compliment  —  these  are  all  inventions. 
{General  buzz  and  hum  of  astonishment  and  delight '.] 
Allow  me  to  tell  my  story — it  will  take  but  a  word 
or  two.  I  passed  through  your  town  at  a  certain 
time,  and  received  a  deep  offence  which  I  had  not 
earned.  Any  other  man  would  have  been  content 
to  kill  one  or  two  of  you  and  call  it  square,  but  to 
me  that  would  have  been  a  trivial  revenge,  and  in 
adequate  ;  for  the  dead  do  not  suffer.  Besides,  I 
could  not  kill  you  all — and,  anyway,  made  as  I  am, 
even  that  would  not  have  satisfied  me.  I  wanted  to 
damage  every  man  in  the  place,  and  every  woman 
—  and  not  in  their  bodies  or  in  their  estate,  but  in 
thejr  vanity  —  the  plade^where  feeble__ajid— foolish 
peopte~aTe  most  vulnerable.  S6\.I  disguised  myself 
and  came  back  and  studied  you.  You  were  easy 
game.  You  had  an  old  and  lofty  reputation  for 
honesty,  and  naturally  you  were  proud  of  it — it  was 
your  treasure  of  treasures,  the  very  apple  of  your 
eye.  As  soon  as  I  found  out  that  you  carefully  and 
vigilantly  kept  yourselves  and  your  children  out  of 
temptation,  I  knew  how  to  proceed.  Why,  you 
simple  creatures,  the  weakest  of  all  weak  things  is 
a  virtue  which  has  not  been  tested  in  the  fire.  I 
laid  a  plan,  and  gathered  a  list  of  names.  My  proj 
ect  was  to  corrupt  Hadleyburg  the  Incorruptible. 


64 

My  idea  was  to  make  liars  and  thieves  of  nearly 
half  a  hundred  smirchless  men  and  women  who  had 
never  in  their  lives  uttered  a  lie  or  stolen  a  penny. 
I  was  afraid  of  Goodson.  He  was  neither  born  nor 
reared  in  Hadleyburg.  I  was  afraid  that  if  I  started 
to  operate  my  scheme  by  getting  my  letter  laid  be 
fore  you,  you  would  say  to  yourselves,  "  Goodson 
is  the  only  man  among  us  who  would  give  away 
twenty  dollars  to  a  poor  devil"  —and  then  you 
might  not  bite  at  my  bait.  But  Heaven  took  Good- 
son  ;  then  I  knew  I  was  safe,  and  I  set  my  trap  and 
baited  it.  It  may  be  that  I  shall  not  catch  all  the 
men  to  whom  I  mailed  the  pretended  test  secret, 
but  I  shall  catch  the  most  of  them,  if  I  know  Had 
leyburg  nature.  [Voices.  "Right  —  he  got  every 
last  one  of  them."]  I  believe  they  will  even  steal 
:  ostensible  gamble-money,  rather  than  miss,  poor, 
tempted,  and  mistrained  fellows.  I  am  hoping  to 
eternally  and  everlastingly  squelch  your  vanity  and 
give  Hadleyburg  a  new  renown — one  that  will  stick 
— and  spread  far.  If  I  have  succeeded,  open  the 
sack  and  summon  the  Committee  on  Propagation 
and  Preservation  of  the  Hadleyburg  Reputation.' ' 

A  Cyclone  of  Voices.  "  Open  it !  Open  it !  The 
Eighteen  to  the  front !  Committee  on  Propagation 
of  the  Tradition  !  Forward — the  Incorruptibles  !" 

The  Chair  ripped  the  sack  wide,  and  gathered  up 


65 

a  handful  of  bright,  broad,  yellow  coins,  shook 
them  together,  then  examined  them — 

"  Friends,  they  are  only  gilded  disks  of  lead  !" 

There  was  a  crashing  outbreak  of  delight  over 
this  news,  and  when  the  noise  had  subsided,  the 
tanner  called  out : 

"  By  right  of  apparent  seniority  in  this  business, 
Mr.  Wilson  is  Chairman  of  the  Committee  on  Prop 
agation  of  the  Tradition.  I  suggest  that  he  step 
forward  on  behalf  of  his  pals,  and  receive  in  trust 
the  money." 

A  Hundred  Voices.  "  Wilson  !  Wilson  !  Wilson  ! 
Speech !  Speech  !" 

Wilson  (in  a  voice  trembling  witli  anger}.  "  You 
will  allow  me  to  say,  and  without  apologies  for  my 
language,  damn  the  money !" 

A  Voice.  "  Oh,  and  him  a  Baptist !" 

A  Voice.  "  Seventeen  Symbols  left  !  Step  up, 
gentlemen,  and  assume  your  trust !" 

There  was  a  pause — no  response. 

The  Saddler.  "  Mr.  Chairman,'  we've  got  one 
clean  man  left,  anyway,  out  of  the  late  aristocracy ; 
and  he  needs  money,  and  deserves  it.  I  move  that 
you  appoint  Jack  Halliday  to  get  up  there  and 
auction  off  that  sack  of  gilt  twenty- dollar  pieces, 
and  give  the  result  to  the  right  man — the  man  whom 
Hadleyburg  delights  to  honor — Edward  Richards." 
5 


66 


This  was  received  with  great  enthusiasm,  the  dog 
taking  a  hand  again  ;  the  saddler  started  the  bids 
at  a  dollar,  the  Brixton  folk  and  Barnum's  repre 
sentative  fought  hard  for  it,  the  people  cheered 
every  jump  that  the  bids  made,  the  excitement 
climbed  moment  by  moment  higher  and  higher, 
the  bidders  got  on  their  mettle  and  grew  steadily 
more  and  more  daring,  more  and  more  determined, 
the  jumps  went  from  a  dollar  up  to  five,  then  to  ten, 
then  to  twenty,  then  fifty,  then  to  a  hundred,  then — 

At  the  beginning  of  the  auction  Richards  whis 
pered  in  distress  to  his  wife :  "  Oh,  Mary,  can  we 
allow  it  ?  It — it — you  see,  it  is  an  honor-reward,  a 
testimonial  to  purity  of  character,  and — and — can 
we  allow  it  ?  Hadn't  I  better  get  up  and — 
Oh,  Mary,  what  ought  we  to  do  ?  —  what  do 
you  think  we —  '  (Hallidays  voice.  "Fifteen  I'm 
bid!  -  -  fifteen  for  the  sack !  —  twenty!  —  ah, 
thanks!  —  thirty — thanks  again!  Thirty,  thirty, 
thirty  ! — do  I  hear  forty  ? — forty  it  is  !  Keep  the 
ball  rolling,  gentlemen,  keep  it  rolling! — fifty!  — 
thanks,  noble  Roman! — going  at  fifty,  fifty,  fifty  ! 
— seventy  ! — ninety  ! — splendid! — a  hundred! — pile 
it  up,  pile  it  up  ! — hundred  and  twenty — forty  /— 
just  in  time  ! — hundred  and  fifty  ! — TWO  hundred! 
— superb  !  Do  I  hear  two  h —  thanks  ! — tzvo  hundred 
and  fifty!— -") 


"It  is  another  temptation,  Edward — I'm  all  in  a 
tremble — but,  oh,  we've  escaped  one  temptation,  and 
that  ought  to  warn  us,  to—  ["Six  did  I  hear? 
— thanks! — six  fifty,  six  f — SEVEN  hundred!"] 
And  yet,  Edward,  when  you  think — nobody  susp — 
[u  Eight  hundred  dollars  ! — hurrah  ! — make  it  nine  / 
— Mr.  Parsons,  did  I  hear  you  say — thanks! — nine! 
— this  noble  sack  of  virgin  lead  going  at  only  nine 
hundred  dollars,  gilding  and  all — come  !  do  I  hear — 
a  thousand/ — gratefully  yours  ! — did  some  one  say 
eleven  ? — a  sack  which  is  going  to  be  the  most  cele 
brated  in  the  whole  Uni — "]  Oh,  Edward  "  (begin 
ning  to  sob),  "  we  are  so  poor! — but — but — do  as 
you  think  best — do  as  you  think  best." 

Edward  fell — that  is,  he  sat  still  ;  sat  with  a  con 
science  which  was  not  satisfied,  but  which  was  over 
powered  by  circumstances. 

Meantime  a  stranger,  who  looked  like  an  ama 
teur  detective  gotten  up  as  an  impossible  English 
earl,  had  been  watching  the  evening's  proceedings 
with  manifest  interest,  and  with  a  contented  ex 
pression  in  his  face ;  and  he  had  been  privately 
commenting  to  himself.  He  was  now  soliloquizing 
somewhat  like  this:  "None  of  the  Eighteen  are 
bidding  ;  that  is  not  satisfactory  ;  I  must  change 
that — the  dramatic  unities  require  it;  they  must 
buy  the  sack  they  tried  to  steal;  they  must  pay  a 


68 


heavy  price,  too  —  some  of  them  are  rich.  And 
another  thing,  when  I  make  a  mistake  in  Hadley- 
burg  nature  the  man  that  puts  that  error  upon  me 
is  entitled  to  a  high  honorarium,  and  some  one 
must  pay  it.  This  poor  old  Richards  has  brought 
my  judgment  to  shame;  he  is  an  honest  man  :  —  I 
don't  understand  it,  but  I  acknowledge  it.  Yes,  he 
saw  my  deuces-^W  with  a  straight  flush,  and  by 
rights  the  pot  is  his.  And  it  shall  be  a  jack-pot, 
too,  if  I  can  manage  it.  He  disappointed  me,  but 
let  that  pass." 

He  was  watching  the  bidding.  At  a  thousand, 
the  market  broke ;  the  prices  tumbled  swiftly.  He 
waited— and  still  watched.  One  competitor  drop 
ped  out ;  then  another,  and  another.  He  put  in  a 
bid  or  two,  now.  When  the  bids  had  sunk  to  ten 
dollars,  he  added  a  five ;  some  one  raised  him  a 
three  ;  he  waited  a  moment,  then  flung  in  a  fifty- 
dollar  jump,  and  the  sack  was  his — at  $1282.  The 
house  broke  out  in  cheers — then  stopped ;  for  he 
was  on  his  feet,  and  had  lifted  his  hand.  He  began 
to  speak. 

"  I  desire  to  say  a  word,  and  ask  a  favor.  I  am 
a  speculator  in  rarities,  and  I  have  dealings  with 
persons  interested  in  numismatics  all  over  the 
world.  I  can  make  a  profit  on  this  purchase,  just 
as  it  stands ;  but  there  is  a  way,  if  I  can  get  your 


approval,  whereby  I  can  make  every  one  of  these 
leaden  twenty-dollar  pieces  worth  its  face  in  gold, 
and  perhaps  more.  Grant  me  that  approval,  and  I 
will  give  part  of  my  gains  to  your  Mr.  Richards, 
whose  invulnerable  probity  you  have  so  justly  and 
so  cordially  recognized  to-night;  his  share  shall 
be  ten  thousand  dollars,  and  I  will  hand  him  the 
money  to-morrow.  [Great  applause  from  the  house. 
But  the  ''invulnerable  probity"  made  the  Rich- 
ardses blush  prettily;  however,  it  went  for  modesty, 
and  did  no  harm.]  If  you  will  pass  my  proposition 
by  a  good  majority — I  would  like  a  two-thirds  vote 
—I  will  regard  that  as  the  town's  consent,  and  that 
is  all  I  ask.  Rarities  are  always  helped  by  any  de 
vice  which  will  rouse  curiosity  and  compel  remark. 
Now  it  I  may  have  your  permission  to  stamp  upon 
the  faces  of  each  of  these  ostensible  coins  the 
names  ot  the  eighteen  gentlemen  who — 

Nine-tenths  of  the  audience  were  on  their  feet  in 
a  moment — dog  and  all — and  the  proposition  was 
carried  with  a  whirlwind  of  approving  applause  and 
laughter. 

They  sat  down,  and  all  the  Symbols  except 
"  Dr."  Clay  Harkness  got  up,  violently  protesting 
against  the  proposed  outrage,  and  threatening  to — 

"  I  beg  you  not  to  threaten  me,"  said  the  stranger, 
calmly.  "  I  know  my  legal  rights,  and  am  not  ac- 


customed  to  being  frightened  at  bluster."  (Ap 
plause)  He  sat  down.  "  Dr."  Harkness  saw  an 
opportunity  here.  He  was  one  of  the  two  very 
rich  men  of  the  place,  and  Pinkerton  was  the  other. 
Harkness  was  proprietor  of  a  mint ;  that  is  to  say, 
a  popular  patent  medicine.  He  was  running  for 
the  Legislature  on  one  ticket,  and  Pinkerton  on 
the  other.  It  was  a  close  race  and  a  hot  one,  and 
getting  hotter  every  day.  Both  had  strong  appe 
tites  for  money  ;  each  had  bought  a  great  tract  of 
land,  with  a  purpose  ;  there  was  going  to  be  a  new 
railway,  and  each  wanted  to  be  in  the  Legislature 
and  help  locate  the  route  to  his  own  advantage ;  a 
single  vote  might  make  the  decision,  and  with  it 
two  or  three  fortunes.  The  stake  was  large,  and 
Harkness  was  a  daring  speculator.  He  was  sitting 
close  to  the  stranger.  He  leaned  over  while  one 
or  another  of  the  other  Symbols  was  entertaining 
the  house  with  protests  and  appeals,  and  asked,  in 
a  whisper, 

"  What  is  your  price  for  the  sack?" 

"  Forty  thousand  dollars." 

"  I'll  give  you  twenty." 

"  No." 

"  Twenty-five." 

"No." 

"  Say  thirty." 


"  The  price  is  forty  thousand  dollars ;  not  a  pen 
ny  less." 

"All  right,  I'll  give  it.  I  will  come  to  the  hotel 
at  ten  in  the  morning.  I  don't  want  it  known  ;  will 
see  you  privately." 

"  Very  good."  Then  the  stranger  got  up  and 
said  to  the  house  : 

"  I  find  it  late.  The  speeches  of  these  gentlemen 
are  not  without  merit,  not  without  interest,  not  with 
out  grace ;  yet  if  I  may  be  excused  I  will  take  my 
leave.  I  thank  you  for  the  great  favor  which  you 
have  shown  me  in  granting  my  petition,  I  ask  the 
Chair  to  keep  the  sack  for  me  until  to-morrow,  and 
to  hand  these  three  five-hundred-dollar  notes  to  Mr. 
Richards."  They  were  passed  up  to  the  Chair. 
"  At  nine  I  will  call  for  the  sack,  and  at  eleven  will 
deliver  the  rest  of  the  ten  thousand  to  Mr.  Richards 
in  person,  at  his  home.  Good-night." 

Then  he  slipped  out,  and  left  the  audience  mak 
ing  a  vast  noise,  which  was  composed  of  a  mixture 
of  cheers,  the  "  Mikado"  song,  dog-disapproval,  and 
the  chant,  "  You  are  f-a-r  from  being  a  b-a-a-d  man 


— a-a-a  a-men  1! 


IV 


At  home  the  Richardses  had  to  endure  congratu 
lations  and  compliments  until  midnight.  Then  they 
were  left  to  themselves.  They  looked  a  little  sad, 
and  they  sat  silent  and  thinking.  Finally  Mary 
sighed  and  said, 

"  Do  you  think  we  are  to  blame,  Edward — much 
to  blame  ?"  and  her  eyes  wandered  to  the  accusing 
triplet  of  big  bank-notes  lying  on  the  table,  where 
the  congratulators  had  been  gloating  over  them  and 
reverently  fingering  them.  Edward  did  not  answer 
at  once;  then  he  brought  out  a  sigh  and  said,  hes 
itatingly  : 

"We  — we  couldn't  help  it,  Mary.  It— well,  it 
was  ordered.  All  things  are." 

Mary  glanced  up  and  looked  at  him  steadily,  but 
he  didn't  return  the  look.  Presently  she  said  : 

"  I  thought  congratulations  and  praises  always 
tasted  good.  But  —  it  seems  to  me,  now —  Ed 
ward?" 

"Well?" 

"  Are  you  going  to  stay  in  the  bank  ?" 

"N-no." 

"  Resign  ?" 

"  In  the  morning — by  note." 


73 

"  It  does  seem  best." 

Richards  bowed  his  head  in  his  hands  and  mut 
tered  : 

"  Before,  I  was  not  afraid  to  let  oceans  of  people's 
money  pour  through  my  hands,  but—  Mary,  I  am 
so  tired,  so  tired— 

"  We  will  go  to  bed/' 

At  nine  in  the  morning  the  stranger  called  for 
the  sack  and  took  it  to  the  hotel  in  a  cab.  At  ten 
Harkness  had  a  talk  with  him  privately.  The  stran 
ger  asked  for  and  got  five  checks  on  a  metropolitan 
bank — drawn  to  "Bearer," — four  for  $1500  each, 
and  one  for  $34,000.  He  put  one  of  the  former  in 
his  pocket-book,  and  the  remainder,  representing 
$38,500,  he  put  in  an  envelope,  and  with  these  he 
added  a  note,  which  he  wrote  after  Harkness  was 
gone.  At  eleven  he  called  at  the  Richards  house 
and  knocked.  Mrs.  Richards  peeped  through  the 
shutters,  then  went  and  received  the  envelope,  and 
the  stranger  disappeared  without  a  word.  Sh&  came 
back  flushed  and  a  little  unsteady  on  her  legs,  and 
gasped  out : 

"  I  am  sure  I  recognized  him  !  Last  night  it 
seemed  to  me  that  maybe  I  had  seen  him  some 
where  before." 

"  He  is  the  man  that  brought  the  sack  here?" 

"  I  am  almost  sure  of  it." 


74 

"Then  he  is  the  ostensible  Stephenson  too,  and 
sold  every  important  citizen  in  this  town  with  his 
bogus  secret.  Now  if  he  has  sent  checks  instead  of 
money,  we  are  sold  too,  after  we  thought  we  had 
escaped.  I  was  beginning  to  feel  fairly  domfortable 
once  more,  after  my  night's  rest,  but  the  look  of 
that  envelope  makes  me  sick.  It  isn't  fat  enough  ; 
$8500  in  even  the  largest  bank-notes  makes  more 
bulk  than  that." 

"  Edward,  why  do  you  object  to  checks?" 

"  Checks  signed  by  Stephenson  !  I  am  resigned 
to  take  the  $8500  if  it  could  come  in  bank-notes— 
for  it  does  seem  that  it  was  so  ordered,  Mary — but 
I  have  never  had  much  courage,  and  I  have  not  the 
pluck  to  try  to  market  a  check  signed  with  that 
disastrous  name.  It  would  be  a  trap.  That  man 
tried  to  catch  me ;  we  escaped  somehow  or  oth 
er  ;  and  now  he  is  trying  a  new  way.  If  it  is 
checks — 

"  Oh,  Edward,  it  is  too  bad  !"  and  she  held  up  the 
checks  and  began  to  cry. 

"  Put  them  in  the  fire !  quick !  we  mustn't  be 
tempted.  It  is  a  trick  to  make  the  world  laugh  at 
us,  along  with  the  rest,  and—  Give  them  to  me, 
since  you  can't  do  it !"  He  snatched  them  and 
tried  to  hold  his  grip  till  he  could  get  to  the  stove ; 
but  he  was  human,  he  was  a  cashier,  and  he  stopped 


75 

a  moment  to  make  sure  of  the  signature.    Then  he 
came  near  to  fainting. 

"  Fan  me,  Mary,  fan  me !     They  are  the  same  as 
gold !" 

"  Oh,  how  lovely,  Edward  !     Why  ?" 

"  Signed  by  Harkness.  What  can  the  mystery  of 
that  be,  Mary?" 

"  Edward,  do  you  think— *" 

"Look  here  —  look  at  this!  Fifteen — fifteen- 
fifteen —  thirty- four.  Thirty- eight  thousand  five 
hundred !  Mary,  the  sack  isn't  worth  twelve  dol 
lars,  and  Harkness — apparently — has  paid  about  par 
for  it." 

"  And  does  it  all  come  to  us,  do  you  think — in 
stead  of  the  ten  thousand  ?" 

"  Why,  it  looks  like  it.  And  the  checks  are  made 
to  '  Bearer,'  too." 

"  Is  that  good,  Edward?     What  is  it  for?" 

"  A  hint  to  collect  them  at  some  distant  bank,  I 
reckon.  Perhaps  Harkness  doesn't  want  the  mat 
ter  known.  What  is  that — a  note  ?" 

"  Yes.     It  was  with  the  checks." 

It  was  in  the  "  Stephenson "  handwriting,  but 
there  was  no  signature.  It  said  : 

"  /  am  a  disappointed  man.  Your  honesty  is  beyond  the 
reach  of  temptation.  I  had  a  different  idea  about  it,  but  I 
wronged  you  in  that,  and  I  beg  pardon,  and  do  it  sincerely.  I 


honor  you — and  that  is  sincere,  too.  This  town  is  not  worthy 
to  kiss  the  hem  of  your  garment.  Dear  sir,  I  made  a  square 
bet  with  myself  that  there  were  nineteen  debauchable  men  in 
your  self-righteous  community.  I  have  lost.  Take  the  whole 
pot,  you  are  entitled  to  it" 

Richards  drew  a  deep  sigh,  and  said : 
"  It  seems  written  with  fire — it  burns  so.     Mary 
—I  am  miserable  again." 
"  I,  too.     Ah,  dear,  I  wish—" 
"  To  think,  Mary — he  believes  in  me." 
"  Oh,  don't,  Edward — I  can't  bear  it." 
"  If  those  beautiful  words  were  deserved,  Mary— 
and  God  knows  I  believed  I  deserved  them  once— 
I  think  I  could  give  the  forty  thousand  dollars  for 
them.    And  I  would  put  that  paper  away,  as  repre 
senting  more  than  gold  and  jewels,  and  keep  it  al 
ways.    But  now—     We  could  not  live  in  the  shadow 
of  its  accusing  presence,  Mary." 
He  put  it  in  the  fire. 

A  messenger  arrived  and  delivered  an  envelope. 
Richards  took  from  it  a  note  and  read  it ;  it  was 
from  Burgess. 

"  You  saved  me,  in  a  difficult  time.  I  saved  you  last  night. 
It  was  at  cost  of  a  lie,  but  I  made  the  sacrifice  freely,  and  out 
of  a  grateful  heart.  None  in  this  village  knows  so  well  as  I 
know  how  brave  and  good  and  noble  you  are.  At  bottom  you 
cannot  respect  me,  knowing  as  you  do  of  that  matter  of  which 


77 


I  am  accused,  and  by  the  general  voice  condemned ;  but  I  beg 
that  you  will  at  least  believe  that  I  am  a  grateful  man  ;  z\ 
will  help  me  to  bear  my  burden. 

{Signed}  "  BURGESS." 

"  Saved,  once  more.  And  on  such  terms- !"  He 
put  the  note  in  the  fire.  "  I — I  wish  I  were  dead, 
Mary,  I  wish  I  were  out  of  it  all." 

".Oh,  these  are  bitter,  bitter  days,  Edward.  The 
stabs,  through  their  very  generosity,  are  so  deep- 
End  they  come  so  fast !" 

Three  days  before  the  election  each  of  two  thou 
sand  voters  suddenly  found  himself  in  possession  of 
a  prized  memento — one  of  the  renowned  bogus 
double-eagles.  Around  one  of  its  faces  was  stamped 
these  words  :  "  THE  REMARK  I  MADE  TO  THE  POOR 
STRANGER  WAS—  Around  the  other  face  was 
stamped  these  :  "  GO,  AND  REFORM.  [SIGNED]  PIN- 
KERTON."  Thus  the  entire  remaining  refuse  of  the 
renowned  joke  was  emptied  upon  a  single  head,  and 
with  calamitous  effect.  It  revived  the  recent  vast 
laugh  and  concentrated  it  upon  Pinkerton ;  and 
Harkness's  election  was  a  walk-over. 

Within  twenty-four  hours  after  the  Richardses 
had  received  their  checks  their  consciences  were 
quieting  down,  discouraged  ;  the  old  couple  were 
learning  to  reconcile  themselves  to  the  sin  which 
they  had  committed.  But  they  were  to  learn,  now, 


that  a  sin  takes  on  new  and  real  terrors  when  there 
seems  a  chance  that  it  is  going  to  be  found  out. 
This  gives  it  a  fresh  and  most  substantial  and  im 
portant  aspect.  At  church  the  morning  sermon 
was  of  the  usual  pattern  ;  it  was  the  same  old  things 
said  in  the  same  old  way ;  they  had  heard  them  a 
thousand  times  and  found  them  innocuous,  next  to 
meaningless,  and  easy  to  sleep  under  ;\  but  now  it 
was  different :  the  sermon  seemed  to  bristle  with 
accusations  ;  it  seemed  aimed  straight  and  specially 
at  people  who  were  concealing^cleadly  sins.  After 
church  they  got  away  from  the  mob  of  congratu- 
lators  as  soon  as  they  could,  and  hurried  homeward, 
chilled  to  the  bone  at  they  did  not  know  what — 
vague,  shadowy,  indefinite  fears.  And  by  chance 
they  caught  a  glimpse  of  Mr.  Burgess^  as  he  turned 
a  corner.  He  paid  no  attention  to  their  nod  of 
recognition  !  He  hadn't  seen  it ;  but  they  did  not 
know  that.  What  could  his  conduct  mean?  It 
might  mean  —  it  might  mean  —  oh,  a  dozen  dread 
ful  things.  Was  it  possible  that  he  knew  that  Rich 
ards  could  have  cleared  him  of  guilt  in  that  bygone 
time,  and  had  been  silently  wait-ing  for  a  chance  to 
even  up  accounts?  At  home,  in  their  distress  they 
got  to  imagining  that  their  servant  might  have 
been  in  the  next  room  listening  when  Richards  re 
vealed  the  secret  to  his  wife  that  he  knew  of  Bur- 


79 

gess's  innocence ;  next,  Richards  began  to  imagine 
that  he  had  heard  the  swish  of  a  gown  in  there  at 
that  time  ;  next,  he  was  sure  he  had  heard  it.  They 
would  call  Sarah  in,  on  a  pretext,  and  watch  her 
face :  if  she  had  been  betraying  them  to  Mr.  Bur 
gess,  it  would  show  in  her  manner.  They  asked 
her  some  questions — questions  which  were  so  ran 
dom  and  incoherent  and  seemingly  purposeless  that 
the  girl  felt  sure  that  the  old  people's  minds  had 
been  affected  by  their  sudden  good  fortune ;  the 
sharp  and  watchful  gaze  which  they  bent  upon  her 
frightened  her,  and  that  completed  the  business! 
She  blushed,  she  became  nervous  and  confused, 
and  to  the  old  people  these  were  plain  signs  of  guilt 
— guilt  of  some  fearful  sort  or  other — without  doubt 
she  was  a  spy  and  a  traitor.  When  they  were  alone 
again  they  began  to  piece  many  unrelated  things 
together  and  get  horrible  results  out  of  the  combi 
nation.  When  things  had  got  about  to  the  worst, 
Richards  was  delivered  of  a  sudden  gasp,  and  his 
wife  asked, 

"  Oh,  what  is  it  ?— what  is  it  ?" 

"The  note — Burgess's  note!  Its  language  was 
sarcastic,  I  see  it  now."  He  quoted  :  "  '  At  bottom 
you  cannot  respect  me,  knowing^  as  you  do,  of  that 
matter  of  which  I  am  accused  ' — oh,  it  is  perfectly 
plain,  now,  God  help  me  !  He  knows  that  I  know  ! 


8o 


You  see  the  ingenuity  of  the  phrasing.  It  was  a 
trap  —  and  like  a  fool,  I  walked  into  it.  And 
Mary — ?" 

"  Oh,  it  is  dreadful — I  know  what  you  are  going 
to  say — he  didn't  return  your  transcript  of  the  pre 
tended  test-remark." 

"  No — kept  it  to  destroy  us  with.  Mary,  he  has 
exposed  us  to  some  already.  I  know  it — I  know  it 
well.  I  saw  it  in  a  dozen  faces  after  church.  Ah, 
he  wouldn't  answer  our  nod  of  recognition  —  he 
knew  what  he  had  been  doing!" 

In  the  night  the  doctor  was  called.  The  news 
went  around  in  the  morning  that  the  old  couple 
were  rather  seriously  ill — prostrated  by  the  exhaust 
ing  excitement  growing  out  of  their  great  windfall, 
the  congratulations,  and  the  late  hours,  the  doctor 
said.  The  town  was  sincerely  distressed  ;  for  these 
old  people  were  about  all  it  had  left  to  be  proud  of, 
now. 

Two  days  later  the  news  was  worse.  The  old 
couple  were  delirious,  and  were  doing  strange  things. 
By  witness  of  the  nurses,  Richards  had  exhibited 
checks — for  $8500?  No — for  an  amazing  sum — 
$38,500!  What  could  be  the  explanation  of  this 
gigantic  piece  of  luck  ? 

The  following  day  the  nurses  had  more  news— 
and  wonderful.  They  had  concluded  to  hide  the 


8i 


checks,  lest  harm  come  to  them  ;   but  when  they 
searched  they  were  gone  from  under  the  patient's 
pillow — vanished  away.     The  patient  said  : 
"  Let  the  pillow  alone  ;  what  do  you  want  ?' 
"  We  thought  it  best  that  the  checks — " 
"You  will   never  see  them  again — they  are  de 
stroyed.     They  came  from  Satan.     I  saw  the  hell- 
brand  on  them,  and  I  knew  they  were  sent  to  be 
tray  me  to  sin."    Then  he  fell  to  gabbling  strange 
and  dreadful  things  which  were  not  clearly  under 
standable,  and  which  the  doctor  admonished  them 
to  keep  to  themselves. 

Richards  was  right ;  the  checks  were  never  seen 
again. 

A  nurse  must  have  talked  in  her  sleep,  for  within 
two  days  the  forbidden  gabblings  were  the  property 
of  the  town ;  and  they  were  of  a  surprising  sort. 
They  seemed  to  indicate  that  Richards  had  been  a 
claimant  for  the  sack  himself,  and  that  Burgess 
had  concealed  that  fact  and  then  maliciously  be 
trayed  it. 

Burgess  was  taxed  with  this  and  stoutly  denied  it. 
And  he  said  it  was  not  fair  to  attach  weight  to  the 
chatter  of  a  sick  old  man  who  was  out  of  his  mind. 
Still,  suspicion  was  in  the  air,  and  there  was  much 
talk. 

After  a  day  or  two  it  was  reported  that   Mrs. 
6 


82 


Richards's  delirious  deliveries  were  getting  to  be 
duplicates  of  her  husband's.  Suspicion  flamed  up 
into  conviction,  now,  and  the  town's  pride  in  the 
purity  of  its  one  undiscredited  important  citizen 
began  to  dim  down  and  flicker  toward  extinction. 

Six  days  passed,  then  came  more  news.'  The  old 
couple  were  dying.  Richards's  mind  cleared  in  his 
latest  hour,  and  he  sent  for  Burgess.  Burgess 
said: 

"  Let  the  room  be  cleared.  I  think  he  wishes  to 
say  something  in  privacy." 

"  No  !"  said  Richards  ;  "  I  want  witnesses.  I  want 
you  all  to  hear  my  confessioj^-strThat  I  may  die  a 
man,  and  not  a  dog.  I  was  clean — artificially — like 
the  rest ;  and  like  the  rest  I  fell  when  temptation 
came.  I  signed  a  lie,  and  claimed  the  miserable 
sack.  Mr.  Burgess  remembered  that  I  had  done 
him  a  service,  and  in  gratitude  (and  ignorance)  he 
suppressed  my  claim  and  saved  me.  ,  You  know 
the  thing  that  was  charged  Against  Burgess  years 
ago.  My  testimony,  and  mine^loftCpCouId  have 
cleared  him,  and  I  was  a  coward,  and  left  him  to 
suffer  disgrace — " 

"  No — no — Mr.  Richards,  you— 

"  My  servant  betrayed  my  secret  to  him— 

"  No  one  has  betrayed  anything  to  me— 

— "  and  then  he  did  a  natural  and  justifiable  thing , 


83 

he  repented  of  the  saving  kindness  which  he  had 
done  me,  and  he  exposed me — as  I  deserved — " 

"  Never! — I  make  oath — " 

"  Out  of  my  heart  I  forgive  him." 

Burgess's  impassioned  protestations  fell  upon 
deaf  ears ;  the  dying  man  passed  away  without 
knowing  that  once  more  he  had  done  poor  Burgess 
a  wrong.  The  old  wife  died  that  night. 

The  last  of  the  sacred  Nineteen  had  fallen  a  prey 
to  the  fiendish  sack ;  the  town  was  stripped  of  the 
last  rag  of  its  ancient  glory.  Its  mourning  was  not, 
showy,  but  it  was  deep. 

By  act  of  the  Legislature  —  upon  prayer  and  pe 
tition — Hadleyburg  was  allowed  to  change  its  name 
to  (never  mind  what — I  will  not  give  it  away),  and 
leave  one  word  out  of  the  motto  that  for  many  gen 
erations  had  graced  the  towi's  official  seal. 

It  is  an  honest  town  once  more,  and  the  man  will 
have  to  rise  early  that  catches  it  napping  again. 


MY  DEBUT  AS  A  LITERARY  PERSON 

IN  those  early  days  I  had  already  published  one 
little  thing  (" The  Jumping  Frog")  in  an  Eastern 
paper,  but  I  did  not  consider  that  that  count 
ed.  In  my  view,  a  person  who  published  things  in 
a  mere  newspaper  could  not  properly  claim  recog 
nition  as  a  Literary  Person :  he  must  rise  away 
above  that ;  he  must  appear  in  a  magazine.  He 
would  then  be  a  Literary  Person  ;  also,  he  would 
be  famous  —  right  away.  These  two  ambitions 
were  strong  upon  me.  This  was  in  1866.  I  pre 
pared  my  contribution,  and  then  looked  around  for 
the  best  magazine  to  go  up  to  glory  in.  I  select 
ed  the  most  important  one  in  New  York.  The 
contribution  was  accepted.  1  signed  it  "'MARK 
TWAIN  ";  for  that  name  had  some  currency  on  the 
Pacific  coast,  and  it  was  my  idea  to  spread  it  all 
over  the  world,  now,  at  this  one  jump.  The  article 
appeared  in  the  December  number,  and  I  sat  up  a 
month  waiting  for  the  January  number;  for  that 
one  would  contain  the  year's  list  of  contributors, 


my  name  would  be  in  it,  and  I  should  be  famous 
and  could  give  the  banquet  I  was  meditating. 

I  did  not  give  the  banquet.  I  had  not  written 
the  "MARK  TWAIN  "  distinctly ;  it  was  a  fresh 
name  to  Eastern  printers,  and  they  put  it  "  Mike 
Swain  "  or  "  MacSwain,"  I  do  not  remember  which. 
At  any  rate,  I  was  not  celebrated,  and  I  did  not 
give  the  banquet.  I  was  a  Literary  Person,  but 
that  was  all — a  buried  one ;  buried  alive. 

My  article  was  about  the  burning  of  the  clipper- 
ship  Hornet  on  the  line,  May  3,  1866.  There  were 
thirty-one  men  on  board  at  the  time,  and  I  was  in 
Honolulu  when  the  fifteen  lean  and  ghostly  sur 
vivors  arrived  there  after  a  voyage  of  forty -three 
days  in  an  open  boat,  through  the  blazing  tropics, 
on  ten  days  rations  of  food.  A  very  remarkable 
trip;  but  it  was  conducted  by  a  captain  who  was  a 
remarkable  man,  otherwise  there  would  have  been 
no  survivors.  He  was  a  New- Englander  of  the 
best  sea -going  stock  of  the  old  capable  times — 
Captain  Josiah  Mitchell. 

I  was  in  the  islands  to  write  letters  for  the  week 
ly  edition  of  the  Sacramento  Union,  a  rich  and  in 
fluential  daily  journal  which  hadn't  any  use  for 
them,  but  could  afford  to  spend  twenty  dollars  a 
week  for  nothing.  The  proprietors  were  lovable 
and  well -beloved  men:  long  ago  dead,  no  doubt, 


but  in  me  there  is  at  least  one  person  who  still 
holds  them  in  grateful  remembrance  ;  for  I  dearly 
wanted  to  see  the  islands,  and  they  listened  to  me 
and  gave  me  the  opportunity  when  there  was  but 
slender  likelihood  that  it  could  profit  them  in  any 
way. 

I  had  been  in  the  islands  several  .months  when 
the  survivors  arrived.  I  was  laid  up  in  my  room  at 
the  time,  and  unable  to  walk.  Here  was  a  great 
occasion  to  serve  my  journal,  and  I  not  able  to 
take  advantage  of  it.  Necessarily  I  was  in  deep 
trouble.  But  by  good  luck  his  Excellency  Anson 
Burlingame  was  there  at  the  time,  on  his  way  to 
take  up  his  post  in  China,  where  he  did  such  good 
work  for  the  United  States.  He  came  and  put  me 
on  a  stretcher  and  had  me  carried  to  the  hospital 
where  the  shipwrecked  men  were,  and  I  never 
needed  to  ask  a  question.  He  attended  to  all  of 
that  himself,  and  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  make 
the  notes.  It  was  like  him  to  take  that  trouble. 
He  was  a  great  man  and  a  great  American,  and  it 
was  in  his  fine  nature  to  come  down  from  his  high 
office  and  do  a  friendly  turn  whenever  he  could. 

We  got  through  with  this  work  at  six  in  the 
evening.  I  took  no  dinner,  for  there  was  no  time 
to  spare  if  I  would  beat  the  other  correspondents. 
I  spent  four  hours  arranging  the  notes  in  their 


proper  order,  then  wrote  all  night  and  beyond  it  ; 
with  this  result :  that  I  had  a  very  long  and  de 
tailed  account  of  the  Hornet  episode  ready  at  nine 
in  the  morning,  while  the  correspondents  of  the 
San  Francisco  journals  had  nothing  but  a  brief 
outline  report — for  they  didn't  sit  up.  The  now- 
and-then  schooner  was  to  sail  for  San  Francisco 
about  nine ;  when  I  reached  the  dock  she  was  free 
forward  and  was  just  casting  off  her  stern-line.  My 
fat  envelope  was  thrown  by  a  strong  hand,  and  fell 
on  board  all  right,  and  my  victory  was  a  safe  thing. 
All  in  due  time  the  ship  reached  San  Francisco,  but 
it  was  my  complete  report  which  made  the  stir  and 
was  telegraphed  to  the  New  York  papers,  by  Mr. 
Cash  ;  he  was  in  charge  of  the  Pacific  bureau  of  the 
New  York  Herald  at  the  time. 

When  I  returned  to  California  by-and-by,  I  went 
up  to  Sacramento  and  presented  a  bill  for  general 
correspondence  at  twenty  dollars  a  week.  It  was 
paid.  Then  I  presented  a  bill  for  "  special  "  service 
on  the  Hornet  matter  of  three  columns  of  solid  non 
pareil  at  a  hundred  dollars  a  column.  The  cashier 
didn't  faint,  but  he  came  rather  near  it.  He  sent 
for  the  proprietors,  and  they  came  and  never 
uttered  a  protest.  They  only  laughed  in  their 
jolly  fashion,  and  said  it  was  robbery,  but  no  mat 
ter;  it  was  a  grand  "  scoop"  (the  bill  or  my  Hornet 


88 

report,  I  didn't  know  which);  "pay  it.  It's  all 
right."  The  best  men  that  ever  owned  a  news 
paper. 

The  Hornet  survivors  reached  the  Sandwich  Isl 
ands  the  1 5th  of  June.  They  were  mere  skinny 
skeletons;  their  clothes  hung  limp  about  them  and 
fitted  them  no  better  than  a  flag  fits  the  flag-staff  in 
a  calm.  But  they  were  well  nursed  in  the  hospital ; 
the  people  of  Honolulu  kept  them  supplied  with 
all  the  dainties  they  could  need  ;  they  gathered 
strength  fast,  and  were  presently  nearly  as  good 
as  new.  Within  a  fortnight  the  most  of  them 
took  ship  for  San  Francisco;  that  is,  if  my  dates 
have  not  gone  astray  in  my  memory.  I  went  in 
the  same  ship,  a  sailing-vessel.  Captain  Mitchell 
of  the  Hornet  was  along ;  also  the  only  passengers 
the  Hornet  had  carried.  These  were  two  young 
men  from  Stamford,  Connecticut — brothers  :  Sam 
uel  Ferguson,  aged  twenty-eight,  a  graduate  of 
Trinity  College,  Hartford,  and  Henry  Ferguson, 
aged  eighteen,  a  student  of  the  same  college. 
The  elder  brother  had  had  some  trouble  with  his 
lungs,  which  induced  his  physician  to  prescribe  a 
long  sea-voyage  for  him.  This  terrible  disaster, 
however,  developed  the  disease  which  later  ended 
fatally.  The  younger  brother  is  still  living,  and 
is  fifty  years  old  this  year  (1898).  The  Hor- 


89 

net  was  a  clipper  of  the  first  class  and  a  fast  sailer ; 
the  young  men's  quarters  were  roomy  and  comfort 
able,  and  were  well  stocked  with  books,  and  also 
with  canned  meats  and  fruits  to  help  out  the  ship- 
fare  with;  and  when  the  ship  cleared  from  New 
York  harbor  in  the  first  week  of  January  there  was 
promise  that  she  would  make  quick  and  pleasant 
work  of  the  fourteen  or  fifteen  thousand  miles  in 
front  of  her.  As  soon  as  the  cold  latitudes  were 
left  behind  and  the  vessel  entered  summer  weather, 
the  voyage  became  a  holiday  picnic.  The  ship  flew 
southward  under  a  cloud  of  sail  which  needed  no 
attention,  no  modifying  or  change  of  any  kind,  for 
days  together.  The  young  men  read,  strolled  the 
ample  deck,  rested  and  drowsed  in  the  shade  of 
the  canvas,  took  their  meals  with  the  captain ;  and 
when  the  day  was  done  they  played  dummy  whist 
with  him  till  bedtime.  After  the  snow  and  ice  and 
tempests  of  the  Horn,  the  ship  bowled  northward 
into  summer  weather  again,  and  the  trip  was  a  pic 
nic  once  more. 

Until  the  early  morning  of  the  3d  of  May.  Com 
puted  position  of  the  ship  112°  10'  west  longitude; 
latitude  2°  above  the  equator;  no  wind,  no  sea — 
dead  calm ;  temperature  of  the  atmosphere,  tropi 
cal,  blistering,  unimaginable  by  one  who  has  not 
been  roasted  in  it.  There  was  a  cry  of  fire.  An 


90 

unfaithful  sailor  had  disobeyed  the  rules  and  gone 
into  the  booby-  hatch  with  an  open  light  to  draw 
some  varnish  from  a  cask.  The  proper  result  fol 
lowed,  and  the  vessel's  hours  were  numbered. 

There  was  not  much  time  to  spare,  but  the  cap 
tain  made  the  most  of  it.  The  three  boats  were 
launched — long-boat  and  two  quarter-boats.  That 
the  time  was  very  short  and  the  hurry  and  excite 
ment  considerable  is  indicated  by  the  fact  that  in 
launching  the  boats  a  hole  was  stove  in  the  side  of 
one  of  them  by  some  sort  of  collision,  and  an  oar 
driven  through  the  side  of  another.  The  captain's 
first  care  was  to  have  four  sick  sailors  brought  up 
and  placed  on  deck  out  of  harm's  way  —  among 
them  a  "Portyghee."  This  man  had  not  done  a 
day's  work  on  the  voyage,  but  had  lain  in  his  ham 
mock  four  months  nursing  an  abscess.  When  we 
were  taking  notes  in  the  Honolulu  hospital  and  a 
sailor  told  this  to  Mr.  Burlingame,  the  third  mate, 
who  was  lying  near,  raised  his  head  with  an  effort, 
and  in  a  weak  voice  made  this  correction  —  with 
solemnity  and  feeling: 

"Raising  abscesses!  He  had  a  family  of  them. 
He  done  it  to  keep  from  standing  his  watch." 

Any  provisions  that  lay  handy  were  gathered  up 
by  the  men  and  the  two  passengers  and  brought 
and  dumped  on  the  deck  where  the  "  Portyghee'" 


91 

lay ;  then  they  ran  for  more.  The  sailor  who  was 
telling  this  to  Mr.  Burlingame  added: 

"  We  pulled  together  thirty-two  days'  rations  for 
the  thirty-one  men  that  way." 

The  third  mate  lifted  his  head  again  and  made 
another  correction — with  bitterness: 

"  The  Portyghee  et  twenty  -  two  of  them  while 
he  was  soldiering  there  and  nobody  noticing.  A 
damned  hound." 

The  fire  spread  with  great  rapidity.  The  smoke 
and  flame  drove  the  men  back,  and  they  had  to 
stop  their  incomplete  work  of  fetching  provisions, 
and  take  to  the  boats  with  only  ten  days'  rations 
secured. 

Each  boat  had  a  compass,  a  quadrant,  a  copy 
or\Bowd itch's  Navigator,  and  a  nautical  almanac, 
and  the  captain's  and  chief  mate's  boats  had  chro- 
nome^ers.  There  were  thirty-one  men  all  told.  The 
captaita  took  an  account  of  stock,  with  the  follow 
ing  result :  four  hams,  nearly  thirty  pounds  of  salt 
pork,  Iplf-box  of  raisins,  one  hundred  pounds  of 
bread,  twelve  two -pound  cans  of  oysters,  clams, 
and  Assorted  meats,  a  keg  containing  four  pounds 
of^utter,  twelve  gallons  of  water  in  a  forty-gallon 
//"scuttle  -  butt,"  four  one  -  gallon  demijohns  full  of 
water,  three  bottles  of  brandy  (the  property  of 
passengers),  some  pipes,  matches,  and  a  hundred 


92 

pounds  of  tobacco.     No  medicines.     Of  course  the 
whole  party  had  to  go  on  short  rations  at  once. 

The  captain  and  the  two  passengers  kept  diaries. 
On  our  voyage  to  San  Francisco  we  ran  into  a  calm 
in  the  middle  of  the  Pacific,  and  did  not  move  a 
rod  during  fourteen  days  ;  this  gave  me  a  chance 
to  copy  the  diaries.  Samuel  Ferguson's  is  the  full 
est;  1  will  draw  upon  it  now.  When  the  following 
paragraph  was  written  the  ship  was  about  one  hun 
dred  and  twenty  days  out  from  port,  and  all  hands 
were  putting  in  the  lazy  time  about  as  usual,  as  no 
one  was  forecasting  disaster. 

May  2.  Latitude  i°  28'  N.,  longitude  111°  38'  W.  An 
other  hot  and  sluggish  day  ;  at  one  time,  however,  the  clouds 
promised  wind,  and  there  came  a  slight  breeze— just  enough 
to  keep  us  going.  The  only  thing  to  chronicle  to-day  is  the 
quantities  of  fish  about ;  nine  bonitos  were  caught  this  fore 
noon,  and  some  large  albacores  seen.  After  dinner  the  first 
mate  hooked  a  fellow  which  he  could  not  hold,  so  he  let  the 
line  go  to  the  captain,  who  was  on  the  bow.  He,  holding  on, 
brought  the  fish  to  with  a  jerk,  and  snap  went  the  line,  hook 
and  all.  We  also  saw  astern,  swimming  lazily  after  us,  an 
enormous  shark,  which  must  have  been  nine  or  ten  feet  long. 
We  tried  him  with  all  sorts  of  lines  and  a  piece  of  pork,  but 
he  declined  to  take  hold.  I  suppose  he  had  appeased  his  ap 
petite  on  the  heads  and  other  remains  of  the  bonitos  we  had 
thrown  overboard. 

Next  day's  entry  records  the  disaster.  The  three 
boats  got  away,  retired  to  a  short  distance,  and 


93 

stopped.  The  two  injured  ones  were  leaking  bad 
ly;  some  of  the  men  were  kept  busy  bailing,  others 
patched  the  holes  as  well  as  they  could.  The  cap 
tain,  the  two  passengers,  and  eleven  men  were  in 
the  long-boat,  with  a  share  of  the  provisions  and 
water,  and  with  no  room  to  spare,  for  the  boat  was 
only  twenty-one  feet  long,  six  wide,  and  three  deep. 
The  chief  mate  and  eight  men  were  in  one  of  the 
small  boats,  the  second  mate  and  seven  men  in  the 
other.  The  passengers  had  saved  no  clothing  but 
what  they  had  on,  excepting  their  overcoats.  The 
ship,  clothed  in  flame  and  sending  up  a  vast  column 
of  black  smoke  into  the  sky,  made  a  grand  picture 
in  the  solitudes  of  the  sea,  and  hour  after  hour  the 
outcasts  sat  and  watched  it.  Meantime  the  cap 
tain  ciphered  on  the  immensity  of  the  distance  that 
stretched  between  him  and  the  nearest  available 
land,  and  then  scaled  the  rations  down  to  meet  the 
emergency:  half  a  biscuit  for  breakfast;  one  bis 
cuit  and  some  canned  meat  for  dinner;  half  a  bis 
cuit  for  tea ;  a  few  swallows  of  water  for  each  meal. 
And  so  hunger  began  to  gnaw  while  the  ship  was 
still  burning. 

May  4.  The  ship  burned  all  night  very  brightly,  and  hopes 
are  that  some  ship  has  seen  the  light  and  is  bearing  down  upon 
its.  None  seen,  however,  this  forenoon,  so  we  have  deter -mined 
to  go  together  north  and  a  little  west  to  some  islands  in  /<?°  or 


94 


IQ°  north  latitude  and  114°  to  115°  west  longitude,  hoping  in 
the  meantime  to  be  picked  up  by  some  ship.  The  ship  sank 
suddenly  at  about  j  A.  M.  We  find  the  sun  very  hot  and  scorch 
ing,  but  all  try  to  keep  out  of  it  as  much  as  we  can. 

They  did  a  quite  natural  thing  now  :  waited  sev 
eral  hours  for  that  possible  ship  that  might  have 
seen  the  light  to  work  her  slow  way  to  them  through 
the  nearly  dead  calm.  Then  they  gave  it  up  and  set 
about  theirplans.  If  you  will  look  at  the  mapyou  will 
say  that  their  course  could  be  easily  decided.  Albe- 
marle  Island  (Galapagos  group)  lies  straight  east 
ward  nearly  a  thousand  miles  ;  the  islands  referred 
to  in  the  diary  indefinitely  as  "  some  islands"  (Re- 
villagigedo  Islands)  lie,  as  they  think,  in  some  wide 
ly  uncertain  region  northward  about  one  thousand 
miles  and  westward  one  hundred  or  one  hundred 
and  fifty  miles.  Acapulco,  on  the  Mexican  coast,  lies 
about  northeast  something  short  of  one  thousand 
miles.  You  will  say  random  rocks  in  the  ocean  are 
not  what  is  wanted;  let  them  strike  for  Acapulco 
and  the  solid  continent.  That  does  look  like  the 
rational  course,  but  one  presently  guesses  from  the 
diaries  that  the  thing  would  have  been  wholly  ir 
rational — indeed,  suicidal.  If  the  boats  struck  for 
Albemarle  they  would  be  in  the  doldrums  all  the 
way  ;  and  that  means  a  watery  perdition,  with  winds 
which  are  wholly  crazy,  and  blow  from  all  points  of 


95 


the  compass  at  once  and  also  perpendicularly.  If 
the  boats  tried  for  Acapulco  they  would  get  out  of 
the  doldrums  when  half-way  there  —  in  case  they 
ever  got  half-way — and  then  they  would  be  in  lam 
entable  case,  for  there  they  would  meet  the  north 
east  trades  coming  down  in  their  teeth,  and  these 
boats  were  so  rigged  that  they  could  not  sail  with 
in  eight  points  of  the  wind.  So  they  wisely  started 
northward,  with  a  slight  slant  to  the  west.  They 
had  but  ten  days'  short  allowance  of  food  ;  the 
long-boat  was  towing  the  others  ;  they  could  not 
depend  on  making  any  sort  of  definite  progress  in 
the  doldrums,  and  they  had  four  or  five  hundred 
miles  of  doldrums  in  front  of  them  yet.  They  are 
the  real  equator,  a  tossing,  roaring,  rainy  belt,  ten 
or  twelve  hundred  miles  broad,  which  girdles  the 
globe. 

It  rained  hard  the  first  night,  and  all  got  drenched, 
but  they  filled  up  their  water-butt.  The  brothers 
were  in  the  stern  with  the  captain,  who  steered. 
The  quarters  were  cramped ;  no  one  got  much  sleep. 
"  Kept  on  our  course  till  squalls  headed  us  off." 

Stormy  and  squally  the  next  morning,  with  drench 
ing  rains.  A  heavy  and  dangerous  "  cobbling"  sea. 
One  marvels  how  such  boats  could  live  in  it.  It  is 
called  a  feat  of  desperate  daring  when  one  man  and 
a  dog  cross  the  Atlantic  in  a  boat  the  size  of  a  long- 


96 

boat,  and  indeed  it  is  ;  but  this  long-boat  was  over 
loaded  with  men  and  other  plunder,  and  was  only 
three  feet  deep.  "  We  naturally  thought  often  of 
all  at  home,  and  were  glad  to  remember  that  it  was 
Sacrament  Sunday,  and  that  prayers  would  go  up 
from  our  friends  for  us,  although  they  know  not  our 
peril." 

The  captain  got  not  even  a  cat -nap  during  the 
first  three  days  and  nights,  but  he  got  a  few  winks 
of  sleep  the  fourth  night.  "The  worst  sea  yet." 
About  ten  at  night  the  captain  changed  his  course 
and  headed  east-northeast,  hoping  to  make  Clipper- 
ton  Rock.  If  he  failed,  no  matter ;  he  would  be  in 
a  better  position  to  make  those  other  islands.  I  will 
mention  here  that  he  did  not  find  that  rock. 

On  the  8th  of  May  no  wind  all  day ;  sun  blister 
ing  hot ;  they  take  to  the  oars.  Plenty  of  dolphins, 
but  they  couldn't  catch  any.  "  I  think  we  are  all 
beginning  to  realize  more  and  more  the  awful  sit 
uation  we  are  in."  "  It  often  takes  a  ship  a  week 
to  get  through  the  doldrums ;  how  much  longer, 
then,  such  a  craft  as  ours."  "  We  are  so  crowded 
that  we  cannot  stretch  ourselves  out  for  a  good 
sleep,  but  have  to  take  it  any  way  we  can  get  it." 

Of  course  this  feature  will  grow  more  and  more 
trying,  but  it  will  be  human  nature  to  cease  to  set 
it  down  ;  there  will  be  five  weeks  of  it  yet — we  must 


97 

try  to  remember  that  for  the  diarist ;  it  will  make 
our  beds  the  softer. 

The  gth  of  May  the  sun  gives  him  a  warning: 
"  Looking  with  both  eyes,  the  horizon  crossed 
thus  +."  "  Henry  keeps  well,  but  broods  over  our 
troubles  more  than  I  wish  he  did."  They  caught 
two  dolphins  ;  they  tasted  well.  "The  captain  be 
lieved  the  compass  out  of  the  way,  but  the  long-in 
visible  north  star  came  out — a  welcome  sight — and 
endorsed  the  compass." 

May  10,  "  latitude  f  o'  3"  N.,  longitude  1 1 1°  32' 
W."  So  they  have  made  about  three  hundred  miles 
of  northing  in  the  six  days  since  they  left  the  region 
of  the  lost  ship.  "  Drifting  in  calms  all  day."  And 
baking  hot,  of  course  ;  I  have  been  down  there,  and 
I  remember  that  detail.  "  Even  as  the  captain  says, 
all  romance  has  long  since  vanished,  and  I  think  the 
most  of  us  are  beginning  to  look  the  fact  of  our 
awful  situation  full  in  the  face."  "  We  are  making 
but  little  headway  on  our  course."  Bad  news  from 
the  rearmost  boat:  the  men  are  improvident;  "they 
have  eaten  up  all  of  the  canned  meats  brought  from 
the  ship,  and  are  now  growing  discontented."  Not 
so  with  the  chief  mate's  people — they  are  evidently 
under  the  eye  of  a  man. 

Under  date  of  May  1 1  :  "  Standing  still !  or  worse; 
we  lost  more  last  night  than  we  made  yesterday." 

7 


98 

In  fact,  they  have  lost  three  miles  of  the  three  hun 
dred  of  northing  they  had  so  laboriously  made. 
"  The  cock  that  was  rescued  and  pitched  into  the 
boat  while  the  ship  was  on  fire  still  lives,  and  crows 
with  the  breaking  of  dawn,  cheering  us  a  good  deal." 
What  has  he  been  living  on  for  a  week?  Did  the 
starving  men  feed  him  from  their  dire  poverty? 
"  The  second  mate's  boat  out  of  water  again,  show 
ing  that  they  overdrink  their  allowance.  The  cap 
tain  spoke  pretty  sharply  to  them."  It  is  true  :  I 
have  the  remark  in  my  old  note-book;  I  got  it  of 
the  third  mate  in  the  hospital  at  Honolulu.  But 
there  is  not  room  for  it  here,  and  it  is  too  combus 
tible,  anyway.  Besides,  the  third  mate  admired  it, 
and  what  he  admired  he  was  likely  to  enhance. 

They  were  still  watching  hopefully  for  ships.  The 
captain  was  a  thoughtful  man,  and  probably  did  not 
disclose  to  them  that  that  was  substantially  a  waste 
of  time.  "  In  this  latitude  the  horizon  is  filled  with 
little  upright  clouds  that  look  very  much  like  ships." 
Mr.  Ferguson  saved  three  bottles  of  brandy  from 
his  private  stores  when  he  left  the  ship,  and  the 
liquor  came  good  in  these  days.  "The  captain 
serves  out  two  table-spoonfuls  of  brandy  and  water 
— half  and  half — to  our  crew."  He  means  the  watch 
that  is  on  duty ;  they  stood  regular  watches — four 
hours  on  and  four  off.  The  chief  mate  was  an  excel- 


99 

lent  officer — a  self-possessed,  resolute,  fine,  all-round 
man.  The  diarist  makes  the  following  note — there 
is  character  in  it  :  "I  offered  one  bottle  of  brandy 
to  the  chief  mate,  but  he  declined,  saying  he  could 
keep  the  after-boat  quiet,  and  we  had  not  enough 
for  all." 

HENRY  FERGUSON'S  DIARY  TO  DATE,  GIVEN  IN  FULL 

May  4,  j,  6,  doldrums.  May  7,  8,  g,  doldrums*  May  10, 
if,  12,  doldrums.  Tells  it  all.  Never  saw,  never  felt,  never 
heard,  never  experienced  such  heat,  such  darkness,  such  light 
ning  and  thunder,  and  wind  and  rain,  in  my  life  before. 

That  boy's  diary  is  of  the  economical  sort  that  a 
person  might  properly  be  expected  to  keep  in  such 
circumstances  —  and  be  forgiven  for  the  economy, 
too.  His  brother,  perishing  of  consumption,  hunger, 
thirst,  blazing  heat,  drowning  rains,  loss  of  sleep,  lack 
of  exercise,  was  persistently  faithful  and  circumstan 
tial  with  his  diary  from  the  first  day  to  the  last — an 
instance  of  noteworthy  fidelity  and  resolution.  In 
spite  of  the  tossing  and  plunging  boat  he  wrote  it 
close  and  fine,  in  a  hand  as  easy  to  read  as  print. 
They  can't  seem  to  get  north  of  7°  N. ;  they  are 
still  there  the  next  day: 

May  12.  A  good  rain  last  night,  and  we  cattght  a  good 
deal,  though  not  enough  to  fill  up  our  tank,  pails,  etc.  Our 
object  is  to  get  out  of  these  doldrums,  but  it  seems  as  if  we 


loo 


cannot  do  it.  To-day  we  have  had  it  very  variable,  and  hope 
we  are  on  the  northern  edge,  though  we  are  not  much  above 
7°.  This  morning  we  all  thought  we  had  made  out  a  sail ; 
but  it  was  one  of  those  deceiving  clouds.  Rained  a  good  deal 
to-day,  making  all  hands  wet  and  uncomfortable  ;  we  filled 
up  pretty  nearly  all  oiir  water-pots,  however.  I  hope  we 
may  have  a  fine  night,  for  the  captain  certainly  wants  rest, 
and  while  there  is  any  danger  of  squalls,  or  danger  of  any 
kind,  he  is  always  on  hand.  I  never  would  have  believed 
that  open  boats  such  as  ours,  with  their  loads,  could  live  in 
some  of  the  seas  we  have  had. 

During  the  night,  I2th-I3th,  "  the  cry  of  A  ship  ! 
brought  us  to  our  feet."  It  seemed  to  be  the  glim 
mer  of  a  vessel's  signal-lantern  rising  out  of  the 
curve  of  the  sea.  There  was  a  season  of  breath 
less  hope  while  they  stood  watching,  with  their 
hands  shading  their  eyes,  and  their  hearts  in  their 
throats ;  then  the  promise  failed :  the  light  was  a 
rising  star.  It  is  a  long  time  ago,  —  thirty-two 
years, — and  it  doesn't  matter  now,  yet  one  is  sorry 
for  their  disappointment.  "  Thought  often  of  those 
at  home  to-day,  and  of  the  disappointment  they 
will  feel  next  Sunday  at  not  hearing  from  us  by 
telegraph  from  San  Francisco."  It  will  be  many 
weeks  yet  before  the  telegram  is  received,  and  it 
will  come  as  a  thunder-clap  of  joy  then,  and  with 
the  seeming  of  a  miracle,  for  it  will  raise  from  the 
grave  men  mourned  as  dead.  "  To-day  our  rations 


IOI 


were  reduced  to  a  quarter  of  a  biscuit  "a 'meal,  with 
about  half  a  pint  of  water."  'This' is  or-  the  i^tly  of 
May,  with  more  than  a  month  of  voyaging~iri  frorft 
of  them  yet !  However,  as  they  do  not  know 
that,  "  we  are  all  feeling  pretty  cheerful." 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  I4th  there  was  a  thunder 
storm,  "which  toward  night  seemed  to  close  in 
around  us  on  every  side,  making  it  very  dark  and 
squally."  "Our  situation  is  becoming  more  and 
more  desperate,"  for  they  were  making  very  little 
northing,  "  and  every  day  diminishes  our  small 
stock  of  provisions."  They  realize  that  the  boats 
must  soon  separate,  and  each  fight  for  its  own  life. 
Towing  the  quarter-boats  is  a  hindering  business. 

That  night  and  next  day,  light  and  baffling  winds 
and  but  little  progress.  Hard  to  bear,  that  per 
sistent  standing  still,  and  the  food  wasting  away. 
"  Everything  in  a  perfect  sop  ;  and  all  so  cramped, 
and  no  change  of  clothes."  Soon  the  sun  comes 
out  and  roasts  them.  "  Joe  caught  another  dolphin 
to-day;  in  his  maw  we  found  a  flying-fish  and  two 
skipjacks."  There  is  an  event,  now,  which  rouses 
an  enthusiasm  of  hope:  a  land-bird  arrives!  It 
rests  on  the  yard  for  awhile,  and  they  can  look  at 
it  all  they  like,  and  envy  it,  and  thank  it  for  its 
message.  As  a  subject  of  talk  it  is  beyond  price — 
a  fresh,  new  topic  for  tongues  tired  to  death  of 


102 


•talking  uporv-a :  •  single  theme:  Shall  we  ever  see 
the  land  again  ;  and  when  ?  Is  the  bird  from  Clip- 
perton  Rock  7  They  hope  so ;  and  they  take  heart 
of  grace  to  believe  so.  As  it  turned  out,  the  bird 
had  no  message  ;  it  merely  came  to  mock. 

May  16,  "  the  cock  still  lives,  and  daily  carols 
forth  His  praise."  It  will  be  a  rainy  night,  "  but  I 
do  not  care  if  we  can  fill  up  our  water-butts." 

On  the  1 7th  one  of  those  majestic  spectres  of 
the  deep,  a  water-spout,  stalked  by  them,  and  they 
trembled  for  their  lives.  Young  Henry  set  it  down 
in  his  scanty  journal  with  the  judicious  comment 
that  "it  might  have  been  a  fine  sight  from  a  ship." 

From  Captain  Mitchell's  log  for  this  day  :  "  Only 
half  a  bushel  of  bread-crumbs  left."  (And  a  month 
to  wander  the  seas  yet.) 

It  rained  all  night  and  all  day ;  everybody  un 
comfortable.  Now  came  a  sword-fish  chasing  a 
bonito ;  and  the  poor  thing,  seeking  help  and 
friends,  took  refuge  under  the  rudder.  The  big 
sword-fish  kept  hovering  around,  scaring  everybody 
badly.  The  men's  mouths  watered  for  him,  for  he 
would  have  made  a  whole  banquet;  but  no  one 
dared  to  touch  him,  of  course,  for  he  would  sink  a 
boat  promptly  if  molested.  Providence  protected 
the  poor  bonito  from  the  cruel  sword-fish.  This 
was  just  and  right.  Providence  next  befriended 


'Q3 

the  shipwrecked  sailors  :  they  got  the  bonito.  This 
was  also  just  and  right.  But  in  the  distribution  of 
mercies  the  sword-fish  himself  got  overlooked.  He 
now  went  away;  to  muse  over  these  subtleties, 
probably.  "  The  men  in  all  the  boats  seem  pretty 
well ;  the  feeblest  of  the  sick  ones  (not  able  for  a 
long  time  to  stand  his  watch  on  board  the  ship)  is 
wonderfully  recovered."  This  is  the  third  mate's 
detested  "  Portyghee "  that  raised  the  family  of 
abscesses. 

Passed  a  most  awful  night.  Rained  hard  nearly  all  the 
time,  and  blew  in  squalls,  accompanied  by  terrific  thunder 
and  lightning,  from  all  points  of  the  compass. — Henry's  Log. 

Most  awful  night  I  ever  witnessed. — Captain's  Log. 

Latitude,  May  18,  11°  11'.  So  they  have  aver 
aged  but  forty  miles  of  northing  a  day  during  the 
fortnight.  Further  talk  of  separating.  "  Too  bad, 
but  it  must  be  done  for  the  safety  of  the  whole." 
"  At  first  I  never  dreamed,  but  now  hardly  shut  my 
eyes  for  a  cat-nap  without  conjuring  up  something 
or  other — to  be  accounted  for  by  weakness,  I  sup 
pose."  But  for  their  disaster  they  think  they  would 
be  arriving  in  San  Francisco  about  this  time.  "  I 

should  have  liked  to  send  B the  telegram  for 

her  birthday."  This  was  a  young  sister. 

On  the  igth  the  captain  called  up  the  quarter- 


104 

boats  and  said  one  would  have  to  go  off  on  its  own 
hook.  The  long-boat  could  no  longer  tow  both  of 
them.  The  second  mate  refused  to  go,  but  the 
chief  mate  was  ready ;  in  fact,  he  was  always  ready 
when  there  was  a  man's  work  to  the  fore.  He 
took  the  second  mate's  boat ;  six  of  its  crew  elected 
to  remain,  and  two  of  his  own  crew  came  with  him 
(nine  in  the  boat,  now,  including  himself).  He 
sailed  away,  and  toward  sunset  passed  out  of  sight. 
The  diarist  was  sorry  to  see  him  go.  It  was  nat 
ural  ;  one  could  have  better  spared  the  "  Porty- 
ghee."  After  thirty-two  years  I  find  my  prejudice 
against  this  "  Portyghee  "  reviving.  His  very  looks 
have  long  passed  out  of  my  memory ;  but  no  mat 
ter,  I  am  coming  to  hate  him  as  religiously  as  ever. 
"  Water  will  now  be  a  scarce  article,  for  as  we  get 
out  of  the  doldrums  we  shall  get  showers  only  now 
and  then  in  the  trades.  This  life  is  telling  severe 
ly  on  my  strength.  Henry  holds  out  first-rate." 
Henry  did  not  start  well,  but  under  hardships  he 
improved  straight  along. 

Latitude,  Sunday,  May  20,  12°  o'  9".  They 
ought  to  be  well  out  of  the  doldrums  now,  but 
they  are  not.  No  breeze — the  longed-for  trades 
still  missing.  They  are  still  anxiously  watching 
for  a  sail,  but  they  have  only  "visions  of  ships  that 
come  to  naught  —  the  shadow  without  the  sub- 


stance."  The  second  mate  catches  a  booby  this 
afternoon,  a  bird  which  consists  mainly  of  feathers; 
"  but  as  they  have  no  other  meat,  it  will  go  well." 

May  21,  they  strike  the  trades  at  last!  The 
second  mate  catches  three  more  boobies,  and  gives 
the  long-boat  one.  Dinner  "half  a  can  of  mince 
meat  divided  up  and  served  around,  which  strength 
ened  us  somewhat."  They  have  to  keep  a  man 
bailing  all  the  time  ;  the  hole  knocked  in  the  boat 
when  she  was  launched  from  the  burning  ship  was 
never  efficiently  mended.  "  Heading  about  north 
west  now."  They  hope  they  have  easting  enough 
to  make  some  of  those  indefinite  isles.  Failing 
that,  they  think  they  will  be  in  a  better  position  to 
be  picked  up.  It  was  an  infinitely  slender  chance, 
but  the  captain  probably  refrained  from  mention 
ing  that. 

The  next  day  is  to  be  an  eventful  one. 

May  22.  Last  night  wind  headed  us  off,  so  that  part  of 
the  time  we  had  to  steer  east-southeast  and  then  west-north 
west,  and  so  on.  This  morning  we  were  all  startled  by  a 
cry  of''  SAIL  HO  !"  Sure  enough,  we  could  see  it !  And  for 
a  time  we  cut  adrift  from  the  second  mates  boat,  and  steered 
so  as  to  attract  its  attention.  This  was  about  half -past  five 
A.M.  After  sailing  in  a  state  of  high  excitement  for  almost 
twenty  minutes  we  made  it  out  to  be  the  chief  mate's  boat. 
Of  course  we  were  glad  to  see  them  and  have  them  report 
all  well ;  but  still  it  was  a  bitter  disappointment  to  us  all. 
Now  that  we  are  in  the  trades  it  seems  impossible  to  make 


io6 


northing  enough  to  strike  the  isles.  We  have  determined 
to  do  the  best  we  can,  and  get  in  the  route  of  vessels.  Such 
being  the  determination,  it  became  necessary  to  cast  off  the 
other  boat,  which,  after  a  good  deal  of  unpleasantness,  was 
done,  we  again  dividing  water  and  stores,  and  taking  Cox 
into  our  boat.  This  makes  our  number  fifteen.  The  second 
mates  crew  wanted  to  all  get  in  with  us  and  cast  the  other 
boat  adrift.  It  rwas  a  very  painful  separation. 

So  those  isles  that  they  have  struggled  for  so 
long  and  so  hopefully  have  to  be  given  up.  What 
with  lying  birds  that  come  to  mock,  and  isles  that 
are  but  a  dream,  and  "  visions  of  ships  that  come  to 
naught,"  it  is  a  pathetic  time  they  are  having,  with 
much  heartbreak  in  it.  It  was  odd  that  the  van 
ished  boat,  three  days  lost  to  sight  in  that  vast 
solitude,  should  appear  again.  But  it  brought 
Cox — we  can't  be  certain  why.  But  if  it  hadn't, 
the  diarist  would  never  have  seen  the  land  again. 

Our  chances  as  we  go  west  increase  in  regard  to  being 
picked  up,  but  each  day  our  scanty  fare  is  so  much  reduced. 
Without  the  fish,  turtle,  and  birds  sent  us,  I  do  not  know 
how  we  should  have  got  along.  The  other  day  I  offered  to 
read  prayers  morning  and  evening  for  the  captain,  and  last 
night  commenced.  The  men,  although  of  various  nation 
alities  and  religions,  are  very  attentive,  and  always  un 
covered.  May  God  grant  my  weak  endeavor  its  issue. 

Latitude,  May  24,  14°  18'  N.  Five  oysters 
apiece  for  dinner  and  three  spoonfuls  of  juice,  a  gill 


of  water,  and  a  piece  of  biscuit  the  size  of  a  silver 
dollar.  "  We  are  plainly  getting  weaker — God 
have  mercy  upon  us  all !"  That  night  heavy  seas 
break  over  the  weather  side  and  make  everybody 
wet  and  uncomfortable,  besides  requiring  constant 
bailing. 

Next  day  "nothing  particular  happened."  Per 
haps  some  of  us  would  have  regarded  it  differently. 
"  Passed  a  spar,  but  not  near  enough  to  see  what 
it  was."  They  saw  some  whales  blow  ;  there  were 
flying -fish  skimming  the  seas,  but  none  came 
aboard.  Misty  weather,  with  fine  rain,  very  pene 
trating. 

Latitude,  May  26,  15°  50'.  They  caught  a  fly 
ing-fish  and  a  booby,  but  had  to  eat  them  raw. 
"  The  men  grow  weaker,  and,  I  think,  despondent ; 
they  say  very  little,  though."  And  so,  to  all  the 
other  imaginable  and  unimaginable  horrors,  silence 
is  added — the  muteness  and  brooding  of  coming 
despair.  "  It  seems  our  best  chance  to  get  in  the 
track  of  ships,  with  the  hope  that  some  one  will 
run  near  enough  to  our  speck  to  see  it."  He  hopes 
the  other  boats  stood  west  and  have  been  picked 
up.  (They  will  never  be  heard  of  again  in  this 
world.) 

Sunday,  May  27.  Latitude  16°  o'  j";  longitude,  by  chro 
nometer,  7/7°  22 '.  Our  fourth  Sunday!  When  ive  left 


io8 


the  ship  we  reckoned  on  having  about  ten  days'  supplies,  and 
now  we  hope  to  be  able,  by  rigid  economy,  to  make  them  last 
another  week  if  possible.*  Last  night  the  sea  was  compara 
tively  quiet,  but  the  wind  headed  us  off  to  about  west-north 
west,  which  has  been  about  our  course  all  day  to-day.  An 
other  flying-fish  came  aboard  last  night,  and  one  more  to 
day — both  small  ones.  No  birds.  A  booby  is  a  great  catch, 
and  a  good  large  one  makes  a  small  dinner  for  the  fifteen  of 
us — that  is,  of  course,  as  dinners  go  in  the  "Hornet's"  long 
boat.  Tried  this  morning  to  read  the  fidl  service  to  myself, 
with  the  communion,  but  found  it  too  much  ;  am  too  weak, 
and  get  sleepy,  and  cannot  give  strict  attention  ;  so  I  put  off 
half  till  this  afternoon.  I  trust  God  will  hear  the  prayers 
gone  up  for  us  at  home  to-day,  and  graciously  answer  them 
by  sending  us  succor  and  help  in  this  our  season  of  deep  dis 
tress. 

The  next  day  was  "  a  good  day  for  seeing  a 
ship."  But  none  was  seen.  The  diarist  "  still 
feels  pretty  well,"  though  very  weak ;  his  brother 
Henry  "  bears  up  and  keeps  his  strength  the  best 
of  any  on  board."  "  I  do  not  feel  despondent  at 
all,  for  I  fully  trust  that  the  Almighty  will  hear 
our  and  the  home  prayers,  and  He  who  suffers 
not  a  sparrow  to  fall  sees  and  cares  for  us,  His 
creatures." 

Considering  the  situation  and  circumstances,  the 
record  for  next  day,  May  29,  is  one  which  has  a 
surprise  in  it  for  those  dull  people  who  think  that 

*  There  are  nineteen  days  of  voyaging  ahead  yet. — M.T. 


109 

nothing  but  medicines  and  doctors  can  cure  the 
sick.  A  little  starvation  can  really  do  more  for  the 
average  sick  man  than  can  the  best  medicines  and 
the  best  doctors.  I  do  not  mean  a  restricted  diet ; 
I  mean  total  abstention  from  food  for  one  or  two 
days.  I  speak  from  experience ;  starvation  has 
been  my  cold  and  fever  doctor  for  fifteen  years, 
and  has  accomplished  a  cure  in  all  instances.  The 
third  mate  told  me  in  Honolulu  that  the  "  Porty- 
ghee  "  had  lain  in  his  hammock  for  months,  raising 
his  family  of  abscesses  and  feeding  like  a  cannibal. 
We  have  seen  that  in  spite  of  dreadful  weather, 
deprivation  of  sleep,  scorching,  drenching,  and  all 
manner  of  miseries,  thirteen  days  of  starvation 
"  wonderfully  recovered  "  him.  There  were  four 
sailors  down  sick  when  the  ship  was  burned. 
Twenty-five  days  of  pitiless  starvation  have  fol 
lowed,  and  now  we  have  this  curious  record :  "All 
the  men  are  hearty  and  strong ;  even  the  ones  that 
were  down  sick  are  well,  except  poor  Peter."  When 
I  wrote  an  article  some  months  ago  urging  tem 
porary  abstention  from  food  as  a  remedy  for  an 
inactive  appetite  and  for  disease,  I  was  accused  of 
jesting,  but  I  was  in  earnest.  "  We  are  all  won 
derfully  well  and  strong,  comparatively  speaking" 
On  this  day  the  starvation  regimen  drew  its  belt  a 
couple  of  buckle-holes  tighter :  the  bread  ration 


1 10 


was  reduced  from  the  usual  piece  of  cracker  the 
size  of  a  silver  dollar  to  tJic  half  of  that,  and  one 
meal  was  abolislicd  from  the  daily  three.  This  will 
weaken  the  men  physically,  but  if  there  are  any 
diseases  of  an  ordinary  sort  left  in  them  they  will 
disappear. 

Two  qitarts  bread-crumbs  left,  one-third  of  a  ham,  three 
small  cans  of  oysters,  and  twenty  gallons  of  water. — Cap 
tain's  Log. 

The  hopeful  tone  of  the  diaries  is  persistent.  It 
is  remarkable.  Look  at  the  map  and  see  where 
the  boat  is:  latitude  16°  44',  longitude  119°  20'. 
It  is  more  than  two  hundred  miles  west  of  the 
Revillagigedo  Islands,  so  they  are  quite  out  of  the 
question  against  the  trades,  rigged  as  this  boat  is. 
The  nearest  land  available  for  such  a  boat  is  the 
American  group,  six  hundred  and  fifty  miles  aivay, 
westward  ;  still,  there  is  no  note  of  surrender,  none 
even  of  discouragement !  Yet,  May  30,  "  we  have 
now  left :  one  can  of  oysters  ;  tliree  pounds  of  raisins  ; 
one  can  of  soup  ;  one-third  of  a  ham  ;  three  pints  of 
biscuit-crumbs"  And  fifteen  starved  men  to  live 
on  it  while  they  creep  and  crawl  six  hundred  and 
fifty  miles.  "  Somehow  I  feel  much  encouraged 
by  this  change  of  course  (west  by  north)  which  we 
have  made  to-day."  Six  hundred  and  fifty  miles 


Ill 


on  a  hatful  of  provisions.  Let  us  be  thankful, 
even  after  thirty-two  years,  that  they  are  mercifully 
ignorant  of  the  fact  that  it  isn't  six  hundred  and 

o 

fifty  that  they  must  creep  on  the  hatful,  but  twenty- 
tivo  hundred! 

Isn't  the  situation  romantic  enough  just  as  it 
stands?  No.  Providence  added  a  startling  de 
tail:  pulling  an  oar  in  that  boat,  for  common  sea 
man's  wages,  was  a  banished  duke — Danish.  We 
hear  no  more  of  him  ;  just  that  mention,  that  is  all, 
with  the  simple  remark  added  that  "  he  is  one  of 
our  best  men  " — a  high  enough  compliment  for  a 
duke  or  any  other  man  in  those  manhood-testing 
circumstarrces.  With  that  little  glimpse  of  him  at 
his  oar,  and  that  fine  word  of  praise,  he  vanishes 
out  of  our  knowledge  for  all  time.  For  all  time, 
unless  he  should  chance  upon  this  note  and  reveal 
himself. 

The  last  day  of  May  is  come.  And  now  there 
is  a  disaster  to  report :  think  of  it,  reflect  upon  it, 
and  try  to  understand  how  much  it  means,  when 
you  sit  down  with  your  family  and  pass  your  eye 
over  your  breakfast-table.  Yesterday  there  were 
three  pints  of  bread-crumbs ;  this  morning  the 
little  bag  is  found  open  and  some  of  the  crumbs 
missing.  "  We  dislike  to  suspect  any  one  of  such 
a  rascally  act,  but  there  is  no  question  that  this 


112 

grave  crime  has  been  committed.  Two  days  will 
certainly  finish  the  remaining  morsels.  God  grant 
us  strength  to  reach  the  American  group !"  The 
third  mate  told  me  in  Honolulu  that  in  these  days 
the  men  remembered  with  bitterness  that  the 
"Portyghee"  had  devoured  twenty-two  days'  ra 
tions  while  he  lay  waiting  to  be  transferred  from 
the  burning  ship,  and  that  now  they  cursed  him 
and  swore  an  oath  that  if  it  came  to  cannibalism 
he  should  be  the  first  to  suffer  for  the  rest. 

The  captain  has  lost  his  glasses,  and  therefore  he  cannot 
read  our  pocket  prayer-books  as  much  as  I  think  he  would 
like,  though  he  is  not  familiar  with  them. 

Further  of  the  captain  :  "  He  is  a  good  man,  and 
has  been  most  kind  to  us — almost  fatherly.  He 
says  that  if  he  had  been  offered  the  command  of 
the  ship  sooner  he  should  have  brought  his  two 
daughters  with  him."  It  makes  one  shudder  yet 
to  think  how  narrow  an  escape  it  was. 

The  two  meals  (rations)  a  day  are  as  follows :  fourteen  rai 
sins  and  a  piece  of  cracker  the  size  of  a  cent,  for  tea  ;  a  gill 
of  water,  and  a  piece  of  ham  and  a  piece  of  bread,  each  the 
size  of  a  cent,  for  breakfast. — Captain's  Log. 

He  means  a  cent  in  thickness  as  well  as  in  cir 
cumference.  Samuel  Ferguson's  diary  says  the 


ham  was  shaved  "  about   as   thin    as   it  could  be 
cut." 

June  i.  Last  night  and  to-day  sea  very  high  and  cob 
bling,  breaking  over  and  making  us  all  wet  and  cold.  Weather 
squally,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  only  careful  management 
— with  God's  protecting  care — preserved  us  through  both  the 
night  and  the  day  ;  and  really  it  is  most  marvellous  how  every 
morsel  that  passes  our  lips  is  blessed  to  us.  It  makes  me 
think  daily  of  the  miracle  of  the  loaves  and  fishes.  Henry 
keeps  up  wonderfully,  which  is  a  great  consolation  to  me.  I 
somehow  have  great  confidence,  and  hope  that  our  afflictions 
will  soon  be  ended,  though  we  are  running  rapidly  across  the 
track  of  both  outward  and  inward  bound  vessels,  and  away 
from  them  ;  our  chief  hope  is  a  whaler,  man-of-war,  or  some 
Australian  ship.  The  isles  we  are  steering  for  are  put  down 
hi  Bowditch,  but  on  my  map  are  said  to  be  doubtful.  God 
grant  they  may  be  there ! 

Hardest  day  yet. — Captain's  Log. 

Doubtful!  It  was  worse  than  that.  A  week 
later  they  sailed  straight  over  them. 

June  2.  Latitude  iS°  9'.  Squally,  cloudy,  a  heavy  sea. 
.  .  .  /  cannot  help  thinking  of  the  cheerful  and  comfortable 
time  we  had  aboard  the  "  Hornet." 

Two  days'  scanty  supplies  left — ten  rations  of  water  apiece 
and  a  little  morsel  of  bread.  BUT  THE  SUN  SHINES,  AND 
GOD  is  MERCIFUL. — Captain's  Log. 

Sunday,  June  j.     Latitude  17°  54'.     Heavy  sea  all  night, 
and  from  4.  A.M.  very  wet,  the  sea  breaking  over  us  in  frequent 
sluices,  and  soaking  everything  aft,  particularly.     All  day 
8 


114 


the  sea  has  been  very  high,  audit  is  a  wonder  that  we  are  not 
swamped.  Heaven  grant  that  it  may  go  down  this  evening  ! 
Our  suspense  and  condition  are  getting  terrible.  I  managed 
this  morning  to  crawl,  more  than  step,  to  the  forward  end  of 
the  boat,  and  was  surprised  to  find  that  I  was  so  weak,  es 
pecially  in  the  legs  and  knees.  The  sun  has  been  out  again, 
and  I  have  dried  some  things,  and  hope  for  a  better  night. 

June  4.  Latitude  77°  6',  longitude  iji°  jo' .  Shipped 
hardly  any  seas  last  night,  and  to-day  the  sea  has  gone  down 
somewhat,  although  it  is  still  too  high  for  comfort,  as  we  have 
an  occasional  reminder  that  water  is  wet.  The  sun  has  been 
out  all  day,  and  so  we  have  had  a  good  drying-.  I  have  been 
trying  for  the  last  ten  or  twelve  days  to  get  a  pair  of  drawers 
dry  enough  to  put  on,  and  to-day  at  last  succeeded.  I  mention 
this  to  show  the  state  in  which  we  have  lived.  If  our  chro 
nometer  is  anywhere  near  right,  we  oitght  to  see  the  American 
Isles  to-morrow  or  next  day.  If  they  are  not  there,  we  have 
only  the  chance,  for  a  few  days,  of  a  stray  ship,  for  we  can 
not  eke  out  the  provisions  more  than  five  or  six  days  longer, 
and  our  strength  is  failing  very  fast.  I  was  much  surprised 
to-day  to  note  how  my  legs  have  wasted  away  above  my  knees : 
they  are  hardly  thicker  than  my  upper  arm  used  to  be.  Still, 
1  trust  in  God's  infinite  mercy,  and  feel  sure  he  will  do  what 
is  best  for  us.  To  survive,  as  we  have  done,  thirty-two  days 
in  an  open  boat,  with  only  about  ten  days  fair  provisions  for 
thirty-one  men  in  the  first  place,  and  these  divided  twice  sub 
sequently,  is  more  than  mere  ^lnassisted  HUMAN  art  and 
strength  could  have  accomplished  and  endured. 

Bread  and  raisins  all  gone. — Captain's  Log. 

Men  growing  dreadfully  discontented,  ami  awful  grum 
bling  and  unpleasant  talk  is  arising.  God  save  us  from  all 
strife  of  men  ;  and  if  we  must  die  now,  take  us  himself,  and 
not  embitter  our  bitter  death  still  more. — Henry's  Log. 


"S 


June  j.  <2#zV/  #/£vfc/  and  pretty  comfortable  day,  though 
our  sail  and  block  show  signs  of  failing,  and  need  taking 
down  —  which  latter  is  something  of  a  job,  as  it  requires  the 
climbing  of  the  mast.  We  also  had  news  from  forward, 
there  being  discontent  and  some  threatening  complaints  of 
unfair  allowances,  etc.,  all  as  unreasonable  as  foolish  ;  still, 
these  things  bid  us  be  on  our  guard.  I  am  getting  miserably 
weak,  but  try  to  keep  up  the  best  I  can.  If  we  cannot  find 
those  isles  we  can  only  try  to  make  northwest  and  get  in  the 
track  of  Sandwich  Island  bound  vessels,  living  as  best  we 
can  in  the  meantime.  To-day  we  changed  to  one  meal,  and 
that  at  about  noon,  with  a  small  ration  of  water  at  8  or  9 
A.M.,  another  at  12  M.,  and  a  third  at  j  or  6  P.M. 

Nothing  left  but  a  little  piece  of  ham  and  a  gill  of  water, 
all  around.  —  Captain's  Log. 

They  are  down  to  one  meal  a  day  now,  —  such  as 
it  is,  —  and  fifteen  hundred  miles  to  crawl  yet  !  And 
now  the  horrors  deepen,  and  though  they  escaped 
actual  mutiny,  the  attitude  of  the  men  became 
alarming.  Now  we  seem  to  see  why  that  curious  ac 
cident  happened,  so  long  ago  :  I  mean  Cox's  return, 
after  he  had  been  far  away  and  out  of  sight  several 
days  in  the  chief  mate's  boat.  If  he  had  not  come 
back  the  captain  and  the  two  young  passengers 
might  have  been  slain,  now,  by  these  sailors,  who 
were  becoming  crazed  through  their  sufferings. 

NOTE   SECRETLY    PASSED    BY   HENRY   TO    HIS    BROTHER 

Cox  told  me  last  night  that  there  is  getting  to  be  a  good 
deal  of  ugly  talk  among  the  men  against  the  captain  and  us 


aft.  They  say  that  the  captain  is  the  cause  of  all ;  that  he 
did  not  try  to  save  the  ship  at  all,  nor  to  get  provisions,  and 
even  woidd  not  let  the  men  put  in  some  they  had ;  and  that 
partiality  is  shown  us  in  apportioning  our  rations  aft. 

*  *  *  *  asked  Cox  the  other  day  if  he  would  starve  Jirst  or  eat 
human  flesh.     Cox  answered  he  would  starve.     *  *  *  *  then 
told  him  he  would  only  be  killing  himself.     If  we  do  not  find 
these   islands  we  would  do  well  to  prepare  for  anything. 

*  *  *  *  *  is  the  loudest  of  all. 

REPLY 

We  can  depend  on  *****,/  think,  and  *****,  and  Cox, 
can  we  not  ? 

SECOND   NOTE 

/ g^^ess  so,  a?id  very  likely  on  *****  /  bid  there  is  no  tell 
ing.  ******  and  Cox  are  certain.  There  is  nothing 
definite  said  or  hinted  as  yet,  as  I  understand  Cox  ;  bitt 
starving  men  are  the  same  as  maniacs.  It  would  be  well  to 
keep  a  watch  on  your  pistol,  so  as  to  have  it  and  the  car 
tridges  safe  from  theft. 

Henry's  Log,  June ^5.  Dreadful  forebodings.  God  spare 
us  from  all  such  horrors  !  Some  of  the  men  getting  to  talk  a 
good  deal.  Nothing  to  write  down.  Heart  very  sad. 

Henry's  Log,  June  6.  Passed  some  sea-weed  and  some 
thing  that  looked  iike  the  trunk  of  an  old  tree,  but  no  birds  ; 
beginning  to  be  afraid  islands  not  there.  To-day  it  was  said 
to  the  captain,  in  the  hearing  of  all,  that  some  of  the  men 
would  not  shrink,  when  a  man  was  dead,  from  iising  tJie 
flesh,  though  they  would  not  kill.  Horrible!  God  give  us 
all  full  use  of  our  reason,  and  spare  its  from  such  things! 
"  From  plague,  pestilence,  and fami?ie  ;  from  battle  and  mur 
der,  and  from  sudden  death,  good  Lord,  deliver  us!" 


June  6.  Latitude  16°  jo',  longitude  (c/tron.)  134*.  Dry 
night  and  wind  steady  enough  to  require  no  change  in  sail ; 
but  this  A.M.  an  attempt  to  lower  it  proved  abortive.  First 
the  third  mate  tried  and  got  up  to  the  block,  and  fastened  a 
temporary  arrangement  to  reeve  the  halyards  through,  but 
had  to  come  down,  weak  and  almost  fainting,  before  finish 
ing  ;  then  Joe  tried,  and  after  twice  ascending,  fixed  it  and 
brought  down  the  block ;  but  it  was  very  exhausting  work, 
and  afterward  he  was  good  for  nothing  all  day.  The  clue- 
iron  which  we  are  trying  to  make  serve  for  the  broken  block 
works,  however,  very  indifferently,  and  will,  I  am  afraid, 
soon  cut  the  rope.  It  is  very  necessary  to  get  everything  con 
nected  with  the  sail  in  good,  easy  running  order  before  we  get 
too  weak  to  do  anything  with  it. 

Only  three  meals  /^/"/.—Captain's  Log. 

June  7.  Latitude  /<5°  j>j'  N.,  longitude  ij6°  jo'  W.  Night 
wet  and  uncomfortable.  To-day  shows  us  pretty  conclusively 
that  the  American  Isles  are  not  there,  though  we  have  had 
some  signs  that  looked  like  them.  At  noon  we  decided  to 
abandon  looking  any  farther  for  them,  and  to-night  haul  a 
little  more  northerly,  so  as  to  get  in  the  way  of  Sandwich  Isl 
and  vessels,  which  fortunately  come  down  pretty  well  this 
way — say  to  latitude  19°  to  20°  to  get  the  benefit  of  the  trade- 
winds.  Of  course  all  the  westing  we  have  made  is  gain,  and 
I  hope  the  chronometer  is  wrong  in  our  favor,  for  I  do  not 
see  how  any  such  delicate  instrument  can  keep  good  ti))ie  with 
the  constant  jarring  and  thumping  we  get  from  the  sea. 
With  the  strong  trade  we  have,  I  hope  that  a  week  from 
Sunday  will  put  us  in  sight  of  tJie  Sandwich  Islands,  if  we 
are  not  safe  by  that  time  by  being  picked  up. 

It  is  twelve  hundred  miles  to  the  Sandwich  Isl- 


ands;   the  provisions  are  virtually  exhausted,  but 
not  the  perishing  diarist's  pluck. 

/line  8.  My  cough  troubled  me  a  good  deal  last  night,  and 
therefore  I  got  hardly  any  sleep  at  all.  Still,  I  make  out 
pretty  well,  and  should  not  complain.  Yesterday  the  third 
mate  mended  the  block,  and  this  P.M.  the  sail,  after  some  dif 
ficulty,  was  got  down,  and  Harry  got  to  the  top  of  the  mast 
and  rove  the  halyards  through  after  some  hardship,  so  that 
it  now  works  easy  and  well.  This  getting  up  the  mast  is  no 
easy  matter  at  any  time  with  the  sea  we  have,  and  is  very  ex 
hausting  in  our  present  state.  We  could  only  reward  Harry 
by  an  extra  ration  of  water.  We  have  made  good  time  and 
course  to-day.  Heading  her  up,  however,  makes  the  boat  ship 
seas  and  keeps  us  all  wet ;  however,  it  cannot  be  helped. 
Writing  is  a  rather  precarious  thing  these  times.  Our  meal 
to-day  for  the  fifteen  consists  of  half  a  can  of  "soup  and 
boullie  ";  the  other  half  is  reserved  for  to-morrow.  Henry 
still  keeps  up  grandly,  and  is  a  great  favorite.  God  grant  he 
may  be  spared! 

A  better  feeling  prevails  among  the  men. — Captain's  Log. 

June  9.  Latitude  77°  jj>'.  Finished  to-day,  I  may  say, 
our  whole  stock  of  provisions*  We  have  only  left  a  lower 
end  of  a  ham-bone,  with  some  of  the  outer  rind  and  skin  on. 
In  regard  to  the  water,  however,  I  think  we  have  got  ten 
days  supply  at  our  present  rate  of  allowance.  This,  with 
what  nourishment  we  can  get  from  boot-legs  and  such  chew- 
able  matter,  we  hope  will  enable  us  to  weather  it  out  till  we 
get  to  the  Sandwich  Islands,  or,  sailing  in  the  meantime  in 
the  track  of  vessels  thither  bound,  be  picked  up.  My  hope  is 

*  Six  days  to  sail  yet,  nevertheless. — M.  T. 


in  the  latter,  for  in  all  human  probability  I  cannot  stand  the 
other.  Still,  we  have  been  marvellously  protected,  and  God,  I 
hope,  ivill  preserve  us  all  in  his  own  good  time  and  way.  The 
men  arc  getting  weaker,  but  are  still  quiet  and  orderly. 

Sunday,  June  10.  Latitude  iS°  40',  longitude  142°  34'.  A 
pretty  good  night  last  night,  with  some  wettings,  and  again 
another  beautiful  Sunday.  I  cannot  but  think  how  we  should 
all  enjoy  it  at  home,  and  what  a  contrast  is  here  !  How  ter 
rible  their  suspense  must  begin  to  be  !  God  grant  that  it  may 
be  relieved  before  very  long,  and  he  certainly  seems  to  be  with 
us  in  everything  we  do,  and  has  preserved  this  boat  miracu 
lously  ;  for  since  we  left  the  ship  we  have  sailed  considerably 
over  three  thousand  miles,  which,  taking  into  consideration 
our  meagre  stock  of  provisions,  is  almost  unprecedented.  As 
yet  I  do  not  feel  the  stint  of  food  so  much  as  I  do  that  of  wa 
ter.  Even  Henry,  who  is  naturally  a  good  water-drinker, 
can  save  half  of  his  allowance  from  time  to  time,  when  I 
cannot.  My  diseased  throat  may  have  something  to  do  with 
that,  however. 

Nothing  is  now  left  which  by  any  flattery  can  be 
called  food.  But  they  must  manage  somehow  for 
five  days  more,  for  at  noon  they  have  still  eight 
hundred  miles  to  go.  It  is  a  race  for  life  now. 

This  is  no  time  for  comments  or  other  interrup 
tions  from  me — every  moment  is  valuable.  I  will 
take  up  the  boy  brother's  diary  at  this  point,  and 
clear  the  seas  before  it  and  let  it  fly. 

HENRY  FERGUSON'S  LOG 

Sunday,  June  10.  Our  ham-bone  has  given  us  a  taste  of 
food  to-day,  and  we  have  got  left  a  little  meat  and  the  re- 


120 


mainder  of  the  bone  for  to  -  morrow.  Certainly,  never  was 
there  such  a  sweet  knuckle-bone,  or  one  that  was  so  thorough 
ly  appreciated.  .  .  .  I  do  not  know  that  I  feel  any  worse 
than  I  did  last  Sunday,  notwithstanding  the  reduction  of 
diet ;  and  1  trust  that  we  may  all  have  strength  given  us  to 
sustain  the  sufferings  and  hardships  of  the  coming  week. 
We  estimate  that  we  are  within  seven  hundred  miles  of  the 
Sandwich  Islands,  and  that  our  average,  daily,  is  somewhat 
over  a  hundred  miles,  so  that  our  hopes  have  some  foundation 
in  reason.  Heaven  send  we  may  all  live  to  see  land! 

June  ii.  Ate  the  meat  and  rind  of  our  ham  -  bone,  and 
have  the  bone  and  the  greasy  cloth  from  around  the  ham  left 
to  eat  to-morrow.  God  send  us  birds  or  fish,  and  let  us  not 
perish  of  hunger,  or  be  brought  to  the  dreadful  alternative 
of  feeding  on  human  flesh!  As  I  feel  now,  I  do  not  think 
anything  could  persuade  me  ;  but  you  cannot  tell  what  you 
will  do  when  you  are  reduced  by  hunger  and  your  mind  wan 
dering.  I  hope  and  pray  we  can  make  out  to  reach  the  isl 
ands  before  we  get  to  this  strait ;  but  we  have  one  or  two 
desperate  men  aboard,  though  they  are  quiet  enough  now.  IT 

IS  MY  FIRM  TRUST  AND  BELIEF  THAT  WE  ARE  GOING  TO 
BE  SAVED. 

All  food  gone.— Captain's  Log.* 

June  12.  Stiff  breeze,  and  we  are  fairly  flying  —  dead 
ahead  of  it  —  and  toward  the  islands.  Good  hope,  but  the 
prospects  of  hunger  are  awful.  Ate  ham-bone  to-day.  It  is 
the  captains  birthday  ;  he  is  fifty-four  years  old. 

June  ij.  The  ham-rags  are  not  quite  all  gone  yet,  and  the 
boot-legs,  we  find,  are  very  palatable  after  we  get  the  salt  out 

*It  was  at  this  time  discovered  that  the  crazed  sailors  had  gotten 
the  delusion  that  the  captain  had  a  million  dollars  in  gold  concealed 
aft,  and  they  were  conspiring  to  kill  him  and  the  two  passengers  and 
seize  it— M.  T. 


121 


of  them.  A  little  smoke,  I  think,  does  some  little  good ;  but  I 
don't  know. 

June  14.  Hunger  does  not  pain  us  much,  but  we  are  dread 
fully  weak.  Our  water  is  getting  frightfully  low.  God  grant 
we  may  see  land  soon!  NOTHING  TO  EAT,  but  feel  better  than 
I  did  yesterday.  Toward  evening  saw  a  magnificent  rainbow — 
THE  FIRST  WEHADSEEN.  Captain  said,  "  Cheer  up,  boys ; 
it's  a  prophecy — IT'S  THE  BOW  OF  PROMISE!" 

June  /j.  God  be  forever  praised  for  his  infinite  mercy  ! 
LAND  IN  SIGHT !  Rapidly  neared  it  and  soon  were  SURE 
of  it  .  .  .  .  Two  noble  Kanakas  swam  out  and  took  the 
boat  ashore.  We  were  joyfully  received  by  two  white  men — 
Mr.  Jones  and  his  steward  Charley — and  a  crowd  of  native 
men,  women,  and  children.  They  treated  us  splendidly — aid 
ed  us,  and  carried  us  up  the  bank,  and  brought  us  water,  poi, 
bananas,  and  green  cocoanuts  ;  but  the  white  men  took  care  of 
us  and  prevented  those  who  would  have  eaten  too  much  from 
doing  so.  Everybody  overjoyed  to  see  us,  and  all  sympathy 
expressed  in  faces,  deeds,  and  words.  We  were  then  helped 
up  to  the  house  ;  and  help  we  needed.  Mr.  Jones  and  Charley 
are  the  only  white  men  here.  Treated  us  splendidly.  Gave 
us  first  about  a  teaspoonful  of  spirits  in  water,  and  then  to 
each  a  cup  of  warm  tea,  with  a  little  bread.  Takes  EVERY 
care  of  us.  Gave  us  later  another  cup  of  tea,  and  bread  the 
same,  and  then  let  us  go  to  rest.  IT  is  THE  HAPPIEST  DAY 
OF  MY  LIFE.  .  .  .  God  in  his  mercy  has  heard  our  prayer. 
.  .  .  Everybody  is  so  kind.  Words  cannot  tell. 

June  16.  Mr.  Jones  gave  us  a  delightful  bed,  and  we  surely 
had  a  good  night" s  rest ;  but  not  sleep — we  were  too  happy 
to  sleep ;  would  keep  the  reality  and  not  let  it  tiirn  to  a  de 
lusion — dreaded  that  we  might  wake  up  and  find  ourselves  in 
the  boat  again. 

It  is  an  amazing  adventure.    There  is  nothing  of 


122 


its  sort  in  history  that  surpasses  it  in  impossibili 
ties  made  possible.  In  one  extraordinary  detail — 
the  survival  of  every  person  in  the  boat— it  prob 
ably  stands  alone  in  the  history  of  adventures  of 
its  kind.  Usually  merely  a  part  of  a  boat's  com 
pany  survive — officers,  mainly,  and  other  educated 
and  tenderly  reared  men,  unused  to  hardship  and 
heavy  labor ;  the  untrained,  roughly  reared  hard 
workers  succumb.  But  in  this  case  even  the  rudest 
and  roughest  stood  the  privations  and  miseries  of 
the  voyage  almost  as  well  as  did  the  college-bred 
young  brothers  and  the  captain.  I  mean,  physi 
cally.  The  minds  of  most  of  the  sailors  broke 
down  in  the  fourth  week  and  went  to  temporary 
ruin,  but  physically  the  endurance  exhibited  was 
astonishing.  Those  men  did  not  survive  by  any 
merit  of  their  own,  of  course,  but  by  merit  of  the 
character  and  intelligence  of  the  captain ;  they 
lived  by  the  mastery  of  his  spirit.  Without  him 
they  would  have  been  children  without  a  nurse; 
they  would  have  exhausted  their  provisions  in  a 
week,  and  their  pluck  would  not  have  lasted  even 
as  long  as  the  provisions. 

The  boat  came  near  to  being  wrecked  at  the  last. 
As  it  approached  the  shore  the  sail  was  let  go,  and 
came  down  with  a  run  ;  then  the  captain  saw  that 
he  was  drifting  swiftly  toward  an  ugly  reef,  and  an 


I23 

effort  was  made  to  hoist  the  sail  again:  but  it 
could  not  be  done;  the  men's  strength  was  wholly 
exhausted;  they  could  not  even  pull  an  oar.  They 
were  helpless,  and  death  imminent.  It  was  then 
that  they  were  discovered  by  the  two  Kanakas  who 
achieved  the  rescue.  They  swam  out  and  manned 
the  boat  and  piloted  her  through  a  narrow  and 
hardly  noticeable  break  in  the  reef — the  only  break 
in  it  in  a  stretch  of  thirty-five  miles !  The  spot 
where  the  landing  was  made  was  the  only  one  in 
that  stretch  where  footing  could  have  been  found 
on  the  shore ;  everywhere  else  precipices  came 
sheer  down  into  forty  fathoms  of  water.  Also,  in 
all  that  stretch  this  was  the  only  spot  where  any 
body  lived. 

Within  ten  days  after  the  landing  all  the  men 
but  one  were  up  and  creeping  about.  Properly, 
they  ought  to  have  killed  themselves  with  the 
"  food  "  of  the  last  few  days — some  of  them,  at  any 
rate — men  who  had  freighted  their  stomachs  with 
strips  of  leather  from  old  boots  and  with  chips  from 
the  butter-cask;  a  freightage  which  they  did  not 
get  rid  of  by  digestion,  but  by  other  means.  The 
captain  and  the  two  passengers  did  not  eat  strips 
and  chips,  as  the  sailors  did,  but  scraped  the  boot- 
leather  and  the  wood,  and  made  a  pulp  of  the 
scrapings  by  moistening  them  with  water.  The 


124 


third  mate  told  me  that  the  boots  were  old  and  full 
of  holes  ;  then  added  thoughtfully,  "  but  the  holes 
digested  the  best."  Speaking  of  digestion,  here  is 
a  remarkable  thing,  and  worth  noting:  during  this 
strange  voyage,  and  for  a  while  afterward  on  shore, 
the  bowels  of  some  of  the  men  virtually  ceased 
from  their  functions;  in  some  cases  there  was  no 
action  for  twenty  and  thirty  days,  and  in  one  case 
for  forty-four!  Sleeping  also  came  to  be  rare.  Yet 
the  men  did  very  well  without  it.  During  many 
days  the  captain  did  not  sleep  at  all — twenty-one, 
I  think,  on  one  stretch. 

When  the  landing  was  made,  all  the  men  were 
successfully  protected  from  overeating  except  the 
"  Portyghee  ";  he  escaped  the  watch  and  ate  an  in 
credible  number  of  bananas  :  a  hundred  and  fifty- 
two,  the  third  mate  said,  but  this  was  undoubtedly 
an  exaggeration  ;  I  think  it  was  a  hundred  and  fifty- 
one.  He  was  already  nearly  full  of  leather;  it  was 
hanging  out  of  his  ears.  (I  do  not  state  this  on 
the  third  mate's  authority,  for  we  have  seen  what 
sort  of  person  he  was ;  I  state  it  on  my  own.)  The 
"  Portyghee  "  ought  to  have  died,  of  course,  and 
even  now  it  seems  a  pity  that  he  didn't;  but  he  got 
well,  and  as  early  as  any  of  them ;  and  all  full  of 
leather,  too,  the  way  he  was,  and  butter-timber  and 
handkerchiefs  and  bananas.  Some  of  the  men  did 


125 

eat  handkerchiefs  in  those  last  days,  also  socks ; 
and  he  was  one  of  them. 

It  is  to  the  credit  of  the  men  that  they  did  not 
kill  the  rooster  that  crowed  so  gallantly  mornings. 
He  lived  eighteen  days,  and  then  stood  up  and 
stretched  his  neck  and  made  a  brave,  weak  effort  to 
do  his  duty  once  more,  and  died  in  the  act.  It  is 
a  picturesque  detail ;  and  so  is  that  rainbow,  too, — 
the  only  one  seen  in  the  forty-three  days, — raising 
its  triumphal  arch  in  the  skies  for  the  sturdy  fighters 
to  sail  under  to  victory  and  rescue. 

With  ten  days'  provisions  Captain  Josiah  Mitchell 
performed  this  memorable  voyage  of  forty-three 
days  and  eight  hours  in  an  open  boat,  sailing  four 
thousand  miles  in  reality  and  thirty-three  hundred 
and  sixty  by  direct  courses,  and  brought  every 
man  safe  to  land.  A  bright,  simple-hearted,  unas 
suming,  plucky,  and  most  companionable  man.  I 
walked  the  deck  with  him  twenty-eight  days, — 
when  I  was  not  copying  diaries, — and  I  remember 
him  with  reverent  honor.  If  he  is  alive  he  is 
eighty-six  years  old  now. 

If  I  remember  rightly,  Samuel  Ferguson  died 
soon  after  we  reached  San  Francisco.  I  do  not 
think  he  lived  to  see  his  home  again  ;  his  disease 
had  been  seriously  aggravated  by  his  hardships. 

For  a  time  it  was  hoped  that  the  two  quarter- 


126 


boats  would  presently  be  heard  of,  but  this  hope 
suffered  disappointment.  They  went  down  with 
all  on  board,  no  doubt,  not  even  sparing  that 
knightly  chief  mate. 

The  authors  of  the  diaries  allowed  me  to  copy 
them  exactly  as  they  were  written,  and  the  ex 
tracts  that  I  have  given  are  without  any  smoothing 
over  or  revision.  These  diaries  are  finely  modest 
and  unaffected,  and  with  unconscious  and  uninten 
tional  art  they  rise  toward  the  climax  with  gradu 
ated  and  gathering  force  and  swing  and  dramatic 
intensity;  they  sweep  you  along  with  a  cumulative 
rush,  and  when  the  cry  rings  out  at  last,  "  Land  in 
sight!"  your  heart  is  in  your  mouth,  and  for  a  mo 
ment  you  think  it  is  you  that  have  been  saved. 
The  last  two  paragraphs  are  not  improvable  by 
anybody's  art ;  they  are  literary  gold  ;  and  their 
very  pauses  and  uncompleted  sentences  have  in 
them  an  eloquence  not  reachable  by  any  words. 

The  interest  of  this  story  is  unquenchable ;  it  is 
of  the  sort  that  time  cannot  decay.  I  have  not 
looked  at  the  diaries  for  thirty-two  years,  but  I  find 
that  they  have  lost  nothing  in  that  time.  Lost? 
They  have  gained ;  for  by  some  subtile  law  all 
tragic  human  experiences  gain  in  pathos  by  the 
perspective  of  time.  We  realize  this  when  in 
Naples  we  stand  musing  over  the  poor  Pompeian 


127 

mother,  lost  in  the  historic  storm  of  volcanic  ashes 
eighteen  centuries  ago,  who  lies  with  her  child 
gripped  close  to  her  breast,  trying  to  save  it,  and 
whose  despair  and  grief  have  been  preserved  for 
us  by  the  fiery  envelope  which  took  her  life  but 
eternalized  her  form  and  features.  She  moves  us, 
she  haunts  us,  she  stays  in  our  thoughts  for  many 
days,  we  do  not  know  why,  for  she  is  nothing  to 
us,  she  has  been  nothing  to  any  one  for  eighteen 
centuries;  whereas  of  the  like  case  to-day  we 
should  say,  "  Poor  thing!  it  is  pitiful,"  and  forget 
it  in  an  hour. 


FROM   THE   "LONDON   TIMES 
OF  1904 


Correspondence  of  the  "  London  Times  " 

CHICAGO,  April  i,  1894. 

I  RESUME  by  cable-telephone  where  I  left  off 
yesterday.  For  many  hours,  now,  this  vast  city 
— along  with  the  rest  of  the  globe,  of  course- 
has  talked  of  nothing  but  the  extraordinary  episode 
mentioned  in  my  last  report.  In  accordance  with 
your  instructions,  I  will  now  trace  the  romance  from 
its  beginnings  down  to  the  culmination  of  yester 
day — or  to-day  ;  call  it  which  you  like.  By  an  odd 
chance,  I  was  a  personal  actor  in  a  part  of  this 
drama  myself.  The  opening  scene  plays  in  Vienna. 
Date,  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  March  31,  1898. 
I  had  spent  the  evening  at  a  social  entertainment. 
About  midnight  I  went  away,  in  company  with  the 
military  attaches  of  the  British,  Italian,  and  Ameri- 


129 

can  embassies,  to  finish  with  a  late  smoke.  This 
function  had  been  appointed  to  take  place  in  the 
house  of  Lieutenant  Hillyer,  the  third  attache 
mentioned  in  the  above  list.  When  we  arrived 
there  we  found  several  visitors  in  the  room:  young 
Szczepanik  ;*  Mr.  K.,  his  financial  backer ;  Mr.  W., 
the  latter's  secretary;  and  Lieutenant  Clayton  of 
the  United  States  army.  War  was  at  that  time 
threatening  between  Spain  and  our  country,  and 
Lieutenant  Clayton  had  been  sent  to  Europe  on 
military  business.  I  was  well  acquainted  with 
young  Szczepanik  and  his  two  friends,  and  I  knew 
Mr.  Clayton  slightly.  I  had  met  him  at  West 
Point  years  before,  when  he  was  a  cadet.  It  was 
when  General  Merritt  was  superintendent.  He 
had  the  reputation  of  being  an  able  officer,  and 
also  of  being  quick-tempered  and  plain-spoken. 

This  smoking-party  had  been  gathered  together 
partly  for  business.  This  business  was  to  consider 
the  availability  of  the  telelectroscope  for  military 
service.  It  sounds  oddly  enough  now,  but  it  is 
nevertheless  true  that  at  that  time  the  invention 
was  not  taken  seriously  by  any  one  except  its  in 
ventor.  Even  his  financial  supporter  regarded  it 
merely  as  a  curious  and  interesting  toy.  Indeed, 

*  Pronounced  (approximately)  Ze/awnik. 


130 

he  was  so  convinced  of  this  that  he  had  actually 
postponed  its  use  by  the  general  world  to  the  end  of 
the  dying  century  by  granting  a  two  years'  exclusive 
lease  of  it  to  a  syndicate,  whose  intent  was  to  ex 
ploit  it  at  the  Paris  World's  Fair.  When  we  en 
tered  the  smoking-room  we  found  Lieutenant 
Clayton  and  Szczepanik  engaged  in  a  warm  talk 
over  the  telelectroscope  in  the  German  tongue. 
Clayton  was  saying : 

"Well,  you  know  my  opinion  of  it,  anyway!" 
and  he  brought  his  fist  down  with  emphasis  upon 
the  table. 

"  And  I  do  not  value  it,"  retorted  the  young  in 
ventor,  with  provoking  calmness  of  tone  and  man 
ner. 

Clayton  turned  to  Mr.  K.,  and  said  : 

"/  cannot  see  why  you  are  wasting  money  on 
this  toy.  In  my  opinion,  the  day  will  never  come 
when  it  will  do  a  farthing's  worth  of  real  service 
for  any  human  being." 

"That  may  be;  yes,  that  may  be;  still,  I  have 
put  the  money  in  it,  and  am  content.  I  think,  my 
self,  that  it  is  only  a  toy;  but  Szczepanik  claims 
more  for  it,  and  I  know  him  well  enough  to  believe 
that  he  can  see  farther  than  I  can — either  with  his 
telelectroscope  or  without  it." 

The  soft  answer  did  not  cool  Clayton  down  ;  it 


seemed  only  to  irritate  him  the  more ;  and  he  re 
peated  and  emphasized  his  conviction  that  the  in 
vention  would  never  do  any  man  a  farthing's  worth 
of  real  service.  He  even  made  it  a  "brass"  farth 
ing,  this  time.  Then  he  laid  an  English  farthing 
on  the  table,  and  added  : 

"  Take  that,  Mr.  K.,  and  put  it  away ;  and  if 
ever  the  telelectroscope  does  any  man  an  actual 
service — mind,  a  real  service — please  mail  it  to  me 
as  a  reminder,  and  I  will  take  back  what  I  have 
been  saying.  Will  you  ?" 

"  I  will";  and  Mr.  K.  put  the  coin  in  his  pocket. 

Mr.  Clayton  now  turned  toward  Szczepanik,  and 
began  with  a  taunt — a  taunt  which  did  not  reach  a 
finish  ;  Szczepanik  interrupted  it  with  a  hardy  re 
tort,  and  followed  this  with  a  blow.  There  was  a 
brisk  fight  for  a  moment  or  two ;  then  the  attaches 
separated  the  men. 

The  scene  now  changes  to  Chicago.  Time,  the 
autumn  of  1901.  As  soon  as  the  Paris  contract  re 
leased  the  telelectroscope,  it  was  delivered  to  pub 
lic  use,  and  was  soon  connected  with  the  telephonic 
systems  of  the  whole  world.  The  improved  "  lim 
itless-distance  "  telephone  was  presently  intro 
duced,  and  the  daily  doings  of  the  globe  made 
visible  to  everybody,  and  audibly  discussable,  too, 
by  witnesses  separated  by  any  number  of  leagues. 


By-and-by  Szczepanik  arrived  in  Chicago.  Clay 
ton  (now  captain)  was  serving  in  that  military  de 
partment  at  the  time.  The  two  men  resumed  the 
Viennese  quarrel  of  1898.  On  three  different  oc 
casions  they  quarreled,  and  were  separated  by  wit 
nesses.  Then  came  an  interval  of  two  months, 
during  which  time  Szczepanik  was  not  seen  by 
any  of  his  friends,  and  it  was  at  first  supposed 
that  he  had  gone  off  on  a  sight-seeing  tour  and 
would  soon  be  heard  from.  But  no  ;  no  word  came 
from  him.  Then  it  was  supposed  that  he  had  re 
turned  to  Europe.  Still,  time  drifted  on,  and  he 
was  not  heard  from.  Nobody  was  troubled,  for 
he  was  like  most  inventors  and  other  kinds  of 
poets,  and  went  and  came  in  a  capricious  way, 
and  often  without  notice. 

Now  comes  the  tragedy.  On  the  2Qth  of  De 
cember,  in  a  dark  and  unused  compartment  of  the 
cellar  under  Captain  Clayton's  house,  a  corpse  was 
discovered  by  one  of  Clayton's  maid-servants.  It 
was  easily  identified  as  Szczepanik's.  The  man  had 
died  by  violence.  Clayton  was  arrested,  indicted, 
and  brought  to  trial,  charged  with  this  murder. 
The  evidence  against  him  was  perfect  in  every  de 
tail,  and  absolutely  unassailable.  Clayton  admitted 
this  himself.  He  said  that  a  reasonable  man  could 
not  examine  this  testimony  with  a  dispassionate 


133 

mind  and  not  be  convinced  by  it ;  yet  the  man 
would  be  in  error,  nevertheless.  Clayton  swore 
that  he  did  not  commit  the  murder,  and  that  he 
had  had  nothing  to  do  with  it. 

As  your  readers  will  remember,  he  was  con 
demned  to  death.  He  had  numerous  and  power 
ful  friends,  and  they  worked  hard  to  save  him,  for 
none  of  them  doubted  the  truth  of  his  assertion. 
I  did  what  little  I  could  to  help,  for  I  had  long 
since  become  a  close  friend  of  his,  and  thought  I 
knew  that  it  was  not  in  his  character  to  inveigle  an 
enemy  into  a  corner  and  assassinate  him.  During 
1902  and  1903  he  was  several  times  reprieved  by 
the  governor  ;  he  was  reprieved  once  more  in  the 
beginning  of  the  present  year,  and  the  execution 
day  postponed  to  March  31. 

The  governor's  situation  has  been  embarrassing, 
from  the  day  of  the  condemnation,  because  of  the 
fact  that  Clayton's  wife  is  the  governor's  niece. 
The  marriage  took  place  in  1899,  when  Clayton 
was  thirty-four  and  the  girl  twenty-three,  and  has 
been  a  happy  one.  There  is  one  child,  a  little  girl 
three  years  old.  Pity  for  the  poor  mother  and 
child  kept  the  mouths  of  grumblers  closed  at  first  ; 
but  this  could  not  last  forever, — for  in  America 
politics  has  a  hand  in  everything, — and  by-and-by 
the  governor's  political  opponents  began  to  call 


134 

attention  to  his  delay  in  allowing  the  law  to  take 
its  course.  These  hints  have  grown  more  and 
more  frequent  of  late,  and  more  and  more  pro 
nounced.  As  a  natural  result,  his  own  party  grew 
nervous.  Its  leaders  began  to  visit  Springfield  and 
hold  long  private  conferences  with  him.  He  was 
now  between  two  fires.  On  the  one  hand,  his 
niece  was  imploring  him  to  pardon  her  husband  ; 
on  the  other  were  the  leaders,  insisting  that  he 
stand  to  his  plain  duty  as  chief  magistrate  of  the 
State,  and  place  no  further  bar  to  Clayton's  execu 
tion.  Duty  won  in  the  struggle,  and  the  governor 
gave  his  word  that  he  would  not  again  respite  the 
condemned  man.  This  was  two  weeks  ago.  Mrs. 
Clayton  now  said  : 

"  Now  that  you  have  given  your  word,  my  last 
hope  is  gone,  for  I  know  you  will  never  go  back 
from  it.  But  you  have  done  the  best  you  could 
for  John,  and  I  have  no  reproaches  for  you.  You 
love  him,  and  you  love  me,  and  both  know  that  if 
you  could  honorably  save  him,  you  would  do  it.  I 
will  go  to  him  now,  and  be  what  help  I  can  to  him, 
and  get  what  comfort  I  may  out  of  the  few  days 
that  are  left  to  us  before  the  night  comes  which 
will  have  no  end  for  me  in  life.  You  will  be  with 
me  that  day?  You  will  not  let  me  bear  it 
alone?" 


135 

"  I  will  take  you  to  him  myself,  poor  child,  and 
I  will  be  near  you  to  the  last." 

By  the  governor's  command,  Clayton  was  now 
allowed  every  indulgence  he  might  ask  for  which 
could  interest  his  mind  and  soften  the  hardships  of 
his  imprisonment.  His  wife  and  child  spent  the 
days  with  him  ;  I  was  his  companion  by  night.  He 
was  removed  from  the  narrow  cell  which  he  had 
occupied  during  such  a  dreary  stretch  of  time,  and 
given  the  chief  warden's  roomy  and  comfortable 
quarters.  His  mind  was  always  busy  with  the 
catastrophe  of  his  life,  and  with  the  slaughtered 
inventor,  and  he  now  took  the  fancy  that  he  would 
like  to  have  the  telelectroscope  and  divert  his 
mind  with  it.  He  had  his  wish.  The  connection 
was  made  with  the  international  telephone-station, 
and  day  by  day,  and  night  by  night,  he  called  up 
one  corner  of  the  globe  after  another,  and  looked 
upon  its  life,  and  studied  its  strange  sights,  and 
spoke  with  its  people,  and  realized  that  by  grace 
of  this  marvellous  instrument  he  was  almost  as 
free  as  the  birds  of  the  air,  although  a  prisoner 
under  locks  and  bars.  He  seldom  spoke,  and  I 
never  interrupted  him  when  he  was  absorbed  in 
this  amusement.  I  sat  in  his  parlor  and  read  and 
smoked,  and  the  nights  were  very  quiet  and  re- 
posefully  sociable,  and  I  found  them  pleasant. 


136 

Now  and  then  I  would  hear  him  say,  "  Give  me 
Yedo "  ;  next,  "  Give  me  Hong-Kong ";  next 
"  Give  me  Melbourne."  And  I  smoked  on,  and 
read  in  comfort,  while  he  wandered  about  the  re 
mote  under-world,  where  the  sun  was  shining  in 
the  sky,  and  the  people  were  at  their  daily  work. 
Sometimes  the  talk  that  came  from  those  far  re 
gions  through  the  microphone  attachment  inter 
ested  me,  and  I  listened. 

Yesterday — I  keep  calling  it  yesterday,  which  is 
quite  natural,  for  certain  reasons — the  instrument 
remained  unused,  and  that,  also,  was  natural,  for  it 
was  the  eve  of  the  execution  day.  It  was  spent 
in  tears  and  lamentations  and  farewells.  The 
governor  and  the  wife  and  child  remained  until 
a  quarter  past  eleven  at  night,  and  the  scenes  I 
witnessed  were  pitiful  to  see.  The  execution  was 
to  take  place  at  four  in  the  morning.  A  little 
after  eleven  a  sound  of  hammering  broke  out 
upon  the  still  night,  and  there  was  a  glare  of 
light,  and  the  child  cried  out,  "  What  is  that, 
papa  ?"  and  ran  to  the  window  before  she  could  be 
stopped,  and  clapped  her  small  hands  and  said, 
"  Oh,  come  and  see,  mamma — such  a  pretty  thing 
they  are  making !"  The  mother  knew — and  faint 
ed.  It  was  the  gallows ! 

She  was    carried    away    to    her    lodging,    poor 


137 

woman,  and  Clayton  and  I  were  alone — alone,  and 
thinking,  brooding,  dreaming.  We  might  have 
been  statues,  we  sat  so  motionless  and  still.  It 
was  a  wild  night,  for  winter  was  come  again  for 
a  moment,  after  the  habit  of  this  region  in  the 
early  spring.  The  sky  was  starless  and  black,  and 
a  strong  wind  was  blowing  from  the  lake.  The 
silence  in  the  room  was  so  deep  that  all  outside 
sounds  seemed  exaggerated  by  contrast  with  it. 
These  sounds  were  fitting  ones;  they  harmonized 
with  the  situation  and  the  conditions  :  the  boom 
and  thunder  of  sudden  storm  -  gusts  among  the 
roofs  and  chimneys,  then  the  dying  down  into 
meanings  and  wailings  about  the  eaves  and  angles  ; 
now  and  then  a  gnashing  and  lashing  rush  of  sleet 
along  the  window-panes ;  and  always  the  muffled 
and  uncanny  hammering  of  the  gallows-builders  in 
the  court-yard.  After  an  age  of  this,  another 
sound — far  off,  and  coming  smothered  and  faint 
through  the  riot  of  the  tempest — a  bell  tolling 
twelve !  Another  age,  and  it  was  tolled  again. 
By -and -by,  again.  A  dreary,  long  interval  after 
this,  then  the  spectral  sound  floated  to  us  once 
more — one,  two,  three  ;  and  this  time  we  caught 
our  breath;  sixty  minutes  of  life  left! 

Clayton    rose,    and    stood  by  the   window,  and 
looked  up   into  the  black  sky,  and  listened  to  the 


138 

thrashing  sleet  and  the  piping  wind  ;  then  he  said  : 
"  That  a  dying  man's  last  of  earth  should  be — 
this!"  After  a  little  he  said:  "I  must  see  the 
sun  again — the  sun !"  and  the  next  moment  he 
was  feverishly  calling :  "  China  !  Give  me  China — 
Peking !" 

I  was  strangely  stirred,  and  said  to  myself :  "  To 
think  that  it  is  a  mere  human  being  who  does  this 
unimaginable  miracle — turns  winter  into  summer, 
night  into  day,  storm  into  calm,  gives  the  freedom 
of  the  great  globe  to  a  prisoner  in  his  cell,  and  the 
sun  in  his  naked  splendor  to  a  man  dying  in 
Egyptian  darkness !" 

I  was  listening. 

"  What  light !  what  brilliancy  !  what  radiance  ! 
.  .  .  This  is  Peking?" 

"  Yes." 

"The  time?" 

"  Mid-afternoon." 

"  What  is  the  great  crowd  for,  and  in  such  gor 
geous  costumes?  What  masses  and  masses  of 
rich  color  and  barbaric  magnificence !  And  how 
they  flash  and  glow  and  burn  in  the  flooding  sun 
light  !  What  is  the  occasion  of  it  all?" 

"  The  coronation  of  our  new  emperor — the  Czar." 

"  But  I  thought  that  that  was  to  take  place  yes 
terday." 


139 

"This  is  yesterday — to  you." 

"  Certainly  it  is.  But  my  mind  is  confused, 
these  days ;  there  are  reasons  for  it.  ...  Is  this 
the  beginning  of  the  procession  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  ;  it  began  to  move  an  hour  ago." 

"  Is  there  much  more  of  it  still  to  come?" 

"  Two  hours  of  it.     Why  do  you  sigh  ?" 

"  Because  I  should  like  to  see  it  all." 

"  And  why  can't  you  ?" 

"  I  have  to  go — presently." 

"  You  have  an  engagement  ?" 

After  a  pause,  softly  :  "  Yes."  After  another 
pause :  "  Who  are  these  in  the  splendid  pavilion  ?" 

"  The  imperial  family,  and  visiting  royalties  from 
here  and  there  and  yonder  in  the  earth." 

"  And  who  are  those  in  the  adjoining  pavilions  to 
the  right  and  left  ?" 

"  Ambassadors  and  their  families  and  suites  to  the 
right ;  unofficial  foreigners  to  the  left." 

"  If  you  will  be  so  good,  I— 

Boom  !  That  distant  bell  again,  tolling  the  half- 
hour  faintly  through  the  tempest  of  wind  and  sleet. 
The  door  opened,  and  the  governor  and  the  mother 
and  child  entered  —  the  woman  in  widow's  weeds! 
She  fell  upon  her  husband's  breast  in  a  passion  of 
sobs,  and  I — I  could  not  stay  ;  I  could  not  bear  it. 
I  went  into  the  bedchamber,  and  closed  the  door. 


140 

I  sat  there  waiting — waiting  —  waiting,  and  listen 
ing  to  the  rattling  sashes  and  the  blustering  of  the 
storm.  After  what  seemed  a  long,  long  time,  I 
heard  a  rustle  and  movement  in  the  parlor,  and 
knew  that  the  clergyman  and  the  sheriff  and  "the 
guard  were  come.  There  was  some  low -voiced 
talking;  then  a  hush  ;  then  a  prayer,  with  a  sound 
of  sobbing ;  presently,  footfalls — the  departure  for 
the  gallows  ;  then  the  child's  happy  voice  :  "  Don't 
cry  now,  mamma,  when  we've  got  papa  again,  and 
taking  him  home." 

The  door  closed ;  they  were  gone.  I  was  ashamed : 
I  was  the  only  friend  of  the  dying  man  that  had  no 
spirit,  no  courage.  I  stepped  into  the  room,  and 
said  I  would  be  a  man  and  would  follow.  But  we 
are  made  as  we  are  made,  and  we  cannot  help  it.  I 
did  not  go. 

I  fidgeted  about  the  room  nervously,  and  pres 
ently  went  to  the  window,  and  softly  raised  it,— 
drawn  by  that  dread  fascination  which  the  terrible 
and  the  awful  exert, —  and  looked  down  upon  the 
court-yard.  By  the  garish  light  of  the  electric  lamps 
I  saw  the  little  group  of  privileged  witnesses,  the 
wife  crying  on  her  uncle's  breast,  the  condemned 
man  standing  on  the  scaffold  with  the  halter  around 
his  neck,  his  arms  strapped  to  his  body,  the  black 
cap  on  his  head,  the  sheriff  at  his  side  with  his  hand 


141 

on  the  drop,  the  clergyman  in  front  of  him  with  bare 
head  and  his  book  in  his  hand. 

"  I  am  the  resurrection  and  tJie  life — " 

I  turned  away.  I  could  not  listen  ;  I  could  not 
look.  I  did  not  know  whither  to  go  or  what  to 
do.  Mechanically,  and  without  knowing  it,  I  put 
my  eye  to  that  strange  instrument,  and  there  was 
Peking  and  the  Czar's  procession  !  The  next  mo 
ment  I  was  leaning  out  of  the  window,  gasping, 
suffocating,  trying  to  speak,  but  dumb  from  the 
very  imminence  of  the  necessity  of  speaking.  The 
preacher  could  speak,  but  I,  who  had  such  need  of 
words — 

"And  may  God  have  mercy  upon  your  soul. 
Amen" 

The  sheriff  drew  down  the  black  cap,  and  laid 
his  hand  upon  the  lever.  I  got  my  voice. 

"  Stop,  for  God's  sake  !  The  man  is  innocent. 
Come  here  and  see  Szczepanik  face  to  face  !" 

Hardly  three  minutes  later  the  governor  had  my 
place  at  the  window,  and  was  saying: 

"  Strike  off  his  bonds  and  set  him  free  !" 

Three  minutes  later  all  were  in  the  parlor  again. 
The  reader  will  imagine  the  scene ;  I  have  no  need 
to  describe  it.  It  was  a  sort  of  mad  orgy  of  joy. 

A  messenger  carried  word  to  Szczepanik  in  the 
pavilion,  and  one  could  see  the  distressed  amaze- 


142 

ment  dawn  in  his  face  as  he  listened  to  the  tale. 
Then  he  came  to  his  end  of  the  line,  and  talked 
with  Clayton  and  the  governor  and  the  others  ;  and 
the  wife  poured  out  her  gratitude  upon  him  for 
saving  her  husband's  life,  and  in  her  deep  thank 
fulness  she  kissed  him  at  twelve  thousand  miles' 
range. 

The  telelectrophonoscopes  of  the  globe  were  put 
to  service  now,  and  for  many  hours  the  kings  and 
queens  of  many  realms  (with  here  and  there  a  re 
porter)  talked  with  Szczepanik,  and  praised  him  ; 
and  the  few  scientific  societies  which  had  not  al 
ready  made  him  an  honorary  member  conferred 
that  grace  upon  him. 

How  had  he  come  to  disappear  from  among  us? 
It  was  easily  explained.  He  had  not  grown  used 
to  being  a  world-famous  person,  and  had  been 
forced  to  break  away  from  the  lionizing  that  was 
robbing  him  of  all  privacy  and  repose.  So  he 
grew  a  beard,  put  on  colored  glasses,  disguised 
himself  a  little  in  other  ways,  then  took  a  fictitious 
name,  and  went  off  to  wander  about  the  earth  in 
peace. 

Such  is  the  tale  of  the  drama  which  began  with 
an  inconsequential  quarrel  in  Vienna  in  the  spring 
of  1898,  and  came  near  ending  as  a  tragedy  in  the 
spring  of  1904. 


II 

Correspondence  of  the  "  London   Times" 

CHICAGO,  April  5,  1904. 

To-day,  by  a  clipper  of  the  Electric  Line,  and  the 
latter's  Electric  Railway  connections,  arrived  an  en 
velope  from  Vienna,  for  Captain  Clayton,  contain 
ing  an  English  farthing.  The  receiver  of  it  was  a 
good  deal  moved.  He  called  up  Vienna,  and  stood 
face  to  face  with  Mr.  K.,  and  said  : 

"  I  do  not  need  to  say  anything ;  you  can  see  it 
all  in  my  face.  My  wife  has  the  farthing.  Do  not 
be  afraid — she  will  not  throw  it  away. 


Ill 


Correspondence  of  the  "  London   Times  " 

CHICAGO,  April  23,  1904. 

Now  that  the  after  developments  of  the  Clayton 
case  have  run  their  course  and  reached  a  finish,  I 
will  sum  them  up.  Clayton's  romantic  escape  from 
a  shameful  death  steeped  all  this  region  in  an  en 
chantment  of  wonder  and  joy  —  during  the  prover 
bial  nine  days.  Then  the  sobering  process  followed, 
and  men  began  to  take  thought,  and  to  say  :  "  But 


144 

a  man  was  killed,  and  Clayton  killed  him."  Others 
replied :  "  That  is  true  :  we  have  been  overlooking 
that  important  detail ;  we  have  been  led  away  by 
excitement." 

The  feeling  soon  became  general  that  Clayton 
ought  to  be  tried  again.  Measures  were  taken  ac 
cordingly,  and  the  proper  representations  conveyed 
to  Washington  ;  for  in  America,  under  the  new  par 
agraph  added  to  the  Constitution  in  1889,  second 
trials  are  not  State  affairs,  but  national,  and  must 
be  tried  by  the  most  august  body  in  the  land — the 
Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States.  The  justices 
were  therefore  summoned  to  sit  in  Chicago.  The 
session  was  held  day  before  yesterday,  and  was 
opened  with  the  usual  impressive  formalities,  the 
nine  judges  appearing  in  their  black  robes,  and  the 
new  chief  justice  (Lemaitre)  presiding.  In  opening 
the  case,  the  chief  justice  said  : 

"  It  is  my  opinion  that  this  matter  is  quite  simple. 
The  prisoner  at  the  bar  was  charged  with  murder 
ing  the  man  Szczepanik  ;  he  was  tried  for  murder 
ing  the  man  Szczepanik ;  he  was  fairly  tried,  and 
justly  condemned  and  sentenced  to  death  for  mur 
dering  the  man  Szczpanik.  It  turns  out  that  the 
man  Szczepanik  was  not  murdered  at  all.  By  the 
decision  of  the  French  courts  in  the  Dreyfus  mat 
ter,  it  is  established  beyond  cavil  or  question  that 


'45 

the  decisions  of  courts  are  permanent  and  cannot 
be  revised.  We  are  obliged  to  respect  and  adopt 
this  precedent.  It  is  upon  precedents  that  the  en 
during  edifice  of  jurisprudence  is  reared.  The  pris 
oner  at  the  bar  has  been  fairly  and  righteously  con 
demned  to  death  for  the  murder  of  the  man  Szcze- 
panik,  and,  in  my  opinion,  there  is  but  one  course 
to  pursue  in  the  matter :  he  must  be  hanged." 

Mr.  Justice  Crawford  said  : 

"  But,  your  Excellency,  he  was  pardoned  on  the 
scaffold  for  that." 

"The  pardon  is  not  valid,  and  cannot  stand,  be 
cause  he  was  pardoned  for  killing  a  man  whom  he 
had  not  killed.  A  man  cannot  be  pardoned  for  a 
crime  which  he  has  not  committed ;  it  would  be  an 
absurdity." 

"  But,  your  Excellency,  he  did  kill  a  man." 

"  That  is  an  extraneous  detail ;  we  have  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  The  court  cannot  take  up  this  crime 
until  the  prisoner  has  expiated  the  other  one." 

Mr.  Justice  Halleck  said: 

"  If  we  order  his  execution,  your  Excellency,  we 
shall  bring  about  a  miscarriage  of  justice  ;  for  the 
governor  will  pardon  him  again." 

"  He  will  not  have  the  power.  He  cannot  pardon 
a  man  for  a  crime  which  he  has  not  committed.  As 
I  observed  before,  it  would  be  an  absurdity." 

10 


146 

After  a  consultation,  Mr.  Justice  Wadsworth 
said  : 

"  Several  of  us  have  arrived  at  the  conclusion, 
your  Excellency,  that  it  would  be  an  error  to  hang 
the  prisoner  for  killing  Szczepanik,  but  only  for 
killing  the  other  man,  since  it  is  proven  that  he  did 
not  kill  Szczepanik." 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  is  proven  that  he  did  kill 
Szczepanik.  By  the  French  precedent,  it  is  plain 
that  we  must  abide  by  the  finding  of  the  court." 

"  But  Szczepanik  is  still  alive." 

"  So  is  Dreyfus." 

In  the  end  it  was  found  impossible  to  ignore  or 
get  around  the  French  precedent.  There  could  be 
but  one  result :  Clayton  was  delivered  over  to  the 
executioner.  It  made  an  immense  excitement; 
the  State  rose  as  one  man  and  clamored  for  Clay 
ton's  pardon  and  retrial.  The  governor  issued  the 
pardon,  but  the  Supreme  Court  was  in  duty  bound 
to  annul  it,  and  did  so,  and  poor  Clayton  was 
hanged  yesterday.  The  city  is  draped  in  black, 
and,  indeed,  the  like  may  be  said  of  the  State.  All 
America  is  vocal  with  scorn  of  "  French  justice," 
and  of  the  malignant  little  soldiers  who  invented  it 
and  inflicted  it  upon  the  other  Christian  lands. 


AT  THE  APPETITE-CURE 


i 

THIS  establishment's  name  is  Hochberghaus. 
It  is  in  Bohemia,  a  short  day's  journey  from 
Vienna,  and  being  in  the  Austrian  empire  is 
of  course  a  health  resort.  The  empire  is  made  up 
of  health  resorts  ;  it  distributes  health  to  the  whole 
world.  Its  waters  are  all  medicinal.  They  are 
bottled  and  sent  throughout  the  earth  ;  the  natives 
themselves  drink  beer.  This  is  self-sacrifice,  ap 
parently — but  outlanders  who  have  drunk  Vienna 
beer  have  another  idea  about  it.  Particularly  the 
Pilsner  which  one  gets  in  a  small  cellar  up  an  ob 
scure  back  lane  in  the  First  Bezirk— the  name  has 
escaped  me,  but  the  place  is  easily  found :  You 
inquire  for  the  Creek  church  ;  and  when  you  get  to 
it,  go  right  along  by — the  next  house  is  that  little 
beer-mill.  It  is  remote  from  all  traffic  and  all  noise; 
it  is  always  Sunday  there.  There  are  two  small 


rooms,  with  low  ceilings  supported  by  massive 
arches ;  the  arches  and  ceilings  are  whitewashed, 
otherwise  the  rooms  would  pass  for  cells  in  the 
dungeons  of  a  bastile.  The  furniture  is  plain  and 
cheap,  there  is  no  ornamentation  anywhere  ;  yet 
it  is  a  heaven  for  the  self-sacrificers,  for  the  beer 
there  is  incomparable ;  there  is  nothing  like  it  else 
where  in  the  world.  In  the  first  room  you  will 
find  twelve  or  fifteen  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  civil 
ian  quality  ;  in  the  other  one  a  dozen  generals  and 
ambassadors.  One  may  live  in  Vienna  many 
months  and  not  hear  of  this  place ;  but  having 
once  heard  of  it  and  sampled  it,  the  sampler  will 
afterward  infest  it. 

However,  this  is  all  incidental — a  mere  passing 
note  of  gratitude  for  blessings  received — at  has 
nothing  to  do  with  my  subject.  My  subject  is 
health  resorts.  All  unhealthy  people  ought  to 
domicile  themselves  in  Vienna,  and  use  that  as  a 
base,  making  flights  from  time  to  time  to  the  out 
lying  resorts,  according  to  need.  A  flight  to 
Marienbad  to  get  rid  of  fat ;  a  flight  to  Carlsbad 
to  get  rid  of  rheumatism  ;  a  flight  to  Kaltenleut- 
geben  to  take  the  water  cure  and  get  rid  of  the  rest 
of  the  diseases.  It  is  all  so  handy.  You  can  stand 
in  Vienna  and  toss  a  biscuit  into  Kaltenleutgeben, 
with  a  twelve-inch  gun.  You  can  run  out  thither 


149 

at  any  time  of  the  day ;  you  go  by  the  phenom 
enally  slow  trains,  and  yet  inside  of  an  hour  you 
have  exchanged  the  glare  and  swelter  of  the  city 
for  wooded  hills,  and  shady  forest  paths,  and  soft 
cool  airs,  and  the  music  of  birds,  and  the  repose 
and  peace  of  paradise. 

And  there  are  plenty  of  other  health  resorts  at 
your  service  and  convenient  to  get  at  from  Vienna; 
charming  places,  all  of  them  ;  Vienna  sits  in  the 
centre  of  a  beautiful  world  of  mountains  with  now 
and  then  a  lake  and  forests ;  in  fact,  no  other  city 
is  so  fortunately  situated. 

There  are  abundance  of  health  resorts,  as  I  have 
said.  Among  them  this  place — Hochberghaus.  It 
stands  solitary  on  the  top  of  a  densely  wooded 
mountain,  and  is  a  building  of  great  size.  It  is 
called  the  Appetite  Anstallt,  and  people  who  have 
lost  their  appetites  come  here  to  get  them  restored. 
When  I  arrived  I  was  taken  by  Professor  Haim- 
berger  to  his  consulting-room  and  questioned  : 

"  It  is  six  o'clock.    When  did  you  eat  last." 

"At  noon." 

"What  did  you  eat?" 

"Next  to  nothing." 

"What  was  on  the  table?" 

"  The  usual  things." 

"Chops,  chickens,  vegetables,  and  so  on?" 


150 

"Yes;  but  don't  mention  them — I  can't  bear  it." 

"Are  you  tired  of  them  ?" 

"  Oh,  utterly.  I  wish  I  might  never  hear  of 
them  again." 

"The  mere  sight  of  food  offends  you,  does  it?" 

"  More,  it  revolts  me." 

The  doctor  considered  awhile,  then  got  out  a 
long  menu  and  ran  his  eye  slowly  down  it. 

"  I  think,"  said  he,  "  that  what  you  need  to  eat 
is — but  here,  choose  for  yourself." 

I  glanced  at  the  list,  and  my  stomach  threw  a  hand 
spring.  Of  all  the  barbarous  layouts  that  were  ever 
contrived,  this  was  the  most  atrocious.  At  the  top 
stood  "  tough,  underdone,  overdue  tripe,  garnished 
with  garlic";  half-way  down  the  bill  stood  "young 
cat ;  old  cat ;  scrambled  cat " ;  at  the  bottom 
stood  "sailor-boots,  softened  with  tallow  —  served 
raw."  The  wide  intervals  of  the  bill  were  pack 
ed  with  dishes  calculated  to  insult  a  cannibal.  I 
said : 

"  Doctor,  it  is  not  fair  to  joke  over  so  serious  a 
case  as  mine.  I  came  here  to  get  an  appetite,  not 
to  throw  away  the  remnant  that's  left." 

He  said  gravely :  "  I  am  not  joking  ;  why  should 
I  joke?" 

"  But  I  can't  eat  these  horrors." 

"Why  not?" 


15* 

He  said  it  with  a  naivete  that  was  admirable, 
whether  it  was  real  or  assumed. 

"Why  not?  Because — why,  doctor,  for  months 
I  have  seldom  been  able  to  endure  anything  more 
substantial  than  omelettes  and  custards..  These  un 
speakable  dishes  of  yours — 

"  Oh,  you  will  come  to  like  them.  They  are  very 
good.  And  you  must  eat  them.  It  is  the  rule  of 
the  place,  and  is  strict.  I  cannot  permit  any  depart 
ure  from  it." 

I  said,  smiling:  "Well,  then,  doctor,  you  will 
have  to  permit  the  departure  of  the  patient.  I  am 
going." 

He  looked  hurt,  and  said  in  a  way  which  changed 
the  aspect  of  things  : 

"  I  am  sure  you  would  not  do  me  that  injustice. 
I  accepted  you  in  good  faith — you  will  not  shame 
that  confidence.  This  appetite-cure  is  my  whole 
living.  If  you  should  go  forth  from  it  with  the 
sort  of  appetite  which  you  now  have,  it  could  be 
come  known,  and  you  can  see,  yourself,  that  peo 
ple  would  say  my  cure  failed  in  your  case  and 
hence  can  fail  in  other  cases.  You  will  not  go  ;  you 
will  not  do  me  this  hurt." 

I  apologized  and  said  I  would  stay. 

"That  is  right.  I  was  sure  you  would  not  go;  it 
would  take  the  food  from  my  family's  mouths." 


152 

"Would  they  mind  that?  Do  they  eat  these 
fiendish  things  ?" 

"They?  My  family?"  His  eyes  were  full  of 
gentle  wonder.  "  Of  course  not." 

"  Oh,  they  don't !     Do  you  ?" 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  I  see.  It's  another  case  of  a  physician  who 
doesn't  take  his  own  medicine." 

"  I  don't  need  it.  It  is  six  hours  since  you 
lunched.  Will  you  have  supper  now — or  later?" 

"  I  am  not  hungry,  but  now  is  as  good  a  time  as 
any,  and  I  would  like  to  be  done  with  it  and  have 
it  off  my  mind.  It  is  about  my  usual  time,  and 
regularity  is  commanded  by  all  the  authorities. 
Yes,  I  will  try  to  nibble  a  little  now — I  wish  a  light 
horsewhipping  would  answer  instead." 

The  professor  handed  me  that  odious  menu. 

"Choose — or  will  you  have  it  later?" 

"Oh,  dear  me,  show  me  to  my  room;  I  forgot 
your  hard  rule." 

"  Wait  just  a  moment  before  you  finally  decide. 
There  is  another  rule.  If  you  choose  now,  the 
order  will  be  filled  at  once ;  but  if  you  wait,  you 
will  have  to  await  my  pleasure.  You  cannot  get 
a  dish  from  that  entire  bill  until  I  consent." 

"All  right.  Show  me  to  my  room,  and  send  the 
cook  to  bed  ;  there  is  not  going  to  be  any  hurry." 


153 

The  professor  took  me  up  one  flight  of  stairs 
and  showed  me  into  a  most  inviting  and  comfort 
able  apartment  consisting  of  parlor,  bedchamber, 
and  bathroom. 

The  front  windows  looked  out  over  a  far-reaching 
spread  of  green  glades  and  valleys,  and  tumbled 
hills  clothed  with  forests  —  a  noble  solitude  un- 
vexed  by  the  fussy  world.  In  the  parlor  were 
many  shelves  filled  with  books.  The  professor 
said  he  would  now  leave x  me  to  myself;  and 
added : 

"  Smoke  and  read  as  much  as  you  please,  drink 
all  the  water  you  like.  When  you  get  hungry, 
ring  and  give  your  order,  and  I  will  decide  whether 
it  shall  he  filled  or  not.  Yours  is  a  stubborn,  bad 
case,  and  I  think  the  first  fourteen  dishes  in  the 
bill  are  each  and  all  too  delicate  for  its  needs.  I 
ask  you  as  a  favor  to  restrain  yourself  and  not  call 
for  them." 

"  Restrain  myself,  is  it  ?  Give  yourself  no  un 
easiness.  You  are  going  to  save  money  by  me. 
The  idea  of  coaxing  a  sick  man's  appetite  back 
with  this  buzzard-fare  is  clear  insanity." 

I  said  it  with  bitterness,  for  I  felt  outraged  by 
this  calm,  cold  talk  over  these  heartless  new  en 
gines  of  assassination.  The  doctor  looked  grieved, 
but  not  offended.  He  laid  the  bill  of  fare  on  the 


154 

commode  at  my  bed's  head,  "  so  that  it  would  be 
handy,"  and  said  : 

"Yours  is  not  the  worst  case  I  have  encountered, 
by  any  means ;  still  it  is  a  bad  one  andrequires 
robust  treatment ;  therefore  I  shall  be  gratified  if 
you  will  restrain  yourself  and  skip  down  to  No.  15 
and  begin  with  that." 

Then  he  left  me  and  I  began  to  undress,  for  I 
was  dog-tired  and  very  sleepy.  I  slept  fifteen 
hours  and  woke  up  finely  refreshed  at  ten  the  next 
morning.  Vienna  coffee !  It  was  the  first  thing  I 
thought  of  —  that  unapproachable  luxury  —  that 
sumptuous  coffee  -  house  coffee,  compared  with 
which  all  other  European  coffee  and  all  American 
hotel  coffee  is  mere  fluid  poverty.  I  rang,  and 
ordered  it ;  also  Vienna  bread,  that  delicious  inven 
tion.  The  servant  spoke  through  the  wicket  in  the 
door  and  said — but  you  know  what  he  said.  He 
referred  me  to  the  bill  of  fare.  I  allowed  him  to 
go — I  had  no  further  use  for  him. 

After  the  bath  I  dressed  and  started  for  a  walk, 
and  got  as  far  as  the  door.  It  was  locked  on  the 
outside.  I  rang  and  the  servant  came  and  explained 
that  it  was  another  rule.  The  seclusion  of  the 
patient  was  required  until  after  the  first  meal.  I 
had  not  been  particularly  anxious  to  get  out  be 
fore;  but  it  was  different  now.  Being  locked  in 


makes  a  person  wishful  to  get  out.  I  soon  began 
to  find  it  difficult  to  put  in  the  time.  At  two 
o'clock  I  had  been  twenty-six  hours  without  food. 
I  had  been  growing  hungry  for  some  time  ;  I  recog 
nized  that  I  was  not  only  hungry  now,  but  hungry 
with  a  strong  adjective  in  front  of  it.  Yet  I  was 
not  hungry  enough  to  face  the  bill  of  fare. 

I  must  put  in  the  time  somehow.  I  would  read 
and  smoke.  I  did  it ;  hour  by  hour.  The  books 
were  all  of  one  breed — shipwrecks ;  people  lost  in 
deserts ;  people  shut  up  in  caved-in  mines ;  people 
starving  in  besieged  cities.  I  read  about  all  the 
revolting  dishes  that  ever  famishing  men  had 
stayed  their  hunger  with.  During  the  first  hours 
these  things  nauseated  me  :  hours  followed  in  which 
they  did  not  so  affect  me  ;  still  other  hours  followed 
in  which  I  found  myself  smacking  my  lips  over 
some  tolerably  infernal  messes.  When  I  had  been 
without  food  forty-five  hours  I  ran  eagerly  to  the 
bell  and  ordered  the  second  dish  in  the  bill,  which 
was  a  sort  of  dumplings  containing  a  compost 
made  of  caviar  and  tar. 

It  was  refused  me.  During  the  next  fifteen 
hours  I  visited  the  bell  every  now  and  then  and 
ordered  a  dish  that  was  further  down  the  list. 
Always  a  refusal.  But  I  was  conquering  prejudice 
after  prejudice,  right  along;  I  was  making  sure 


156 

progress;  I  was  creeping  up  on  No.  15  with  deadly 
certainty,  and  my  heart  beat  faster  and  faster,  my 
hopes  rose  higher  and  higher. 

At  last  when  food  had  not  passed  my  fips  for 
sixty  hours,  victory  was  mine,  and  I  ordered  No.  15  : 

"  Soft-boiled  spring  chicken — in  the  egg ;  six 
dozen,  hot  and  fragrant !" 

In  fifteen  minutes  it  was  there ;  and  the  doctor 
along  with  it,  rubbing  his  hands  with  joy.  He 
said  with  great  excitement : 

"  It's  a  cure,  it's  a  cure  !  I  knew  I  could  do  it. 
Dear  sir,  my  grand  system  never  fails  —  never. 
You've  got  your  appetite  back — you  know  you 
have ;  say  it  and  make  me  happy." 

"  Bringi*n§L  on  your  carrion — I  can  eat  anything 
in  the  bill!" 

"  Oh,  this  is  noble,  this  is  splendid — but  I  knew 
I  could  do  it,  the  system  never  fails.  How  are  the 
birds?" 

"  Never  was  anything  so  delicious  in  the  world; 
and  yet  as  a  rule  I  don't  care  for  game.  But  don't 
interrupt  me,  don't — I  can't  spare  my  mouth,  I 
really  can't." 

Then  the  doctor  said  : 

"  The  cure  is  perfect.  There  is  no  more  doubt 
nor  danger.  Let  the  poultry  alone;  I  can  trust 
you  with  a  beefsteak,  now." 


'57 

The  beefsteak  came — as  much  as  a  basketful  of 
it — with  potatoes,  and  Vienna  bread  and  coffee ; 
and  I  ate  a  meal  then  that  was  worth  all  the  costly 
preparation  I  had  made  for  it.  And  dripped  tears 
of  gratitude  into  the  gravy  all  the  time — gratitude 
to'  the  doctor  for  putting  a  little  plain  common- 
sense  into  me  when  I  had  been  empty  of  it  so  many, 
many  years. 

II 

Thirty  years  ago  Haimberger  went  off  on  a  long 
voyage  in  a  sailing-ship.  There  were  fifteen  pas 
sengers  on  board.  The  table-fare  was  of  the  regu 
lation  pattern  of  the  day:  At  7  in  the  morning,  a 
cup  of  bad  coffee  in  bed;  at  9,  breakfast:  bad 
coffee,  with  condensed  milk;  soggy  rolls,  crackers, 
salt  fish ;  at  I  P.M.,  luncheon  :  cold  tongue,  cold 
ham,  cold  corned  beef,  soggy  cold  rolls,  crackers; 
5  P.M.,  dinner:  thick  pea  soup,  salt  fish,  hot  corned 
beef  and  sour  kraut,  boiled  pork  and  beans,  pud 
ding ;  9  till  II  P.M.,  supper:  tea,  with  condensed 
milk,  cold  tongue,  cold  ham,  pickles,  sea-biscuit, 
pickled  oysters,  pickled  pig's  feet,  grilled  bones, 
golden  buck. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  week  eating  had  ceased, 
nibbling  had  taken  its  place.  The  passengers  came 


1 58 


to  the  table,  but  it  was  partly  to  put  in  the  time, 
and  partly  because  the  wisdom  of  the  ages  com 
manded  them  to  be  regular  in  their  meals.  They 
were  tired  of  the  coarse  and  monotonous  fare, 
and  took  no  interest  in  it,  had  no  appetite  for  it. 
All  day  and  every  day  they  roamed  the  ship  half 
hungry,  plagued  by  their  gnawing  stomachs,  moody, 
untalkative,  miserable.  Among  them  were  three 
confirmed  dyspeptics.  These  became  shadows  in 
the  course  of  three  weeks.  There  was  also  a  bed 
ridden  invalid  ;  he  lived  on  boiled  rice  ;  he  could 
not  look  at  the  regular  dishes. 

Now  came  shipwreck  and  life  in  open  boats,  with 
the  usual  paucity  of  food.  Provisions  ran  lower 
and  lower.  The  appetites  improved,  then.  When 
nothing  was  left  but  raw  ham  and  the  ration  of 
that  was  down  to  two  ounces  a  day  per  person,  the 
appetites  were  perfect.  At  the  end  of  fifteen  days 
the  dyspeptics,  the  invalid,  and  the  most  delicate 
ladies  in  the  party  were  chewing  sailor-boots  in 
ecstasy,  and  only  complaining  because  the  supply 
of  them  was  limited.  Yet  these  were  the  same 
people  who  couldn't  endure  the  ship's  tedious 
corned  beef  and  sour  kraut  and  other  crudities. 
They  were  rescued  by  an  English  vessel.  Within 
ten  days  the  whole  fifteen  were  in  as  good  condi 
tion  as  they  had  been  when  the  shipwreck  occurred. 


159 

"  They  had  suffered  no  damage  by  their  advent 
ure,"  said  the  professor.  "  Do  you  note  that  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  note  it  well?" 

"Yes— I  think  I  do." 

"But  you  don't.  You  hesitate.  You  don't  rise 
to  the  importance  of  it.  I  will  say  it  again — with 
emphasis — not  one  of  them  suffered  any  damage" 

"  Now  I  begin  to  see.  Yes,  it  was  indeed  re 
markable." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind.  It  was  perfectly  natural. 
There  was  no  reason  why  they  should  suffer 
damage.  They  were  undergoing  Nature's  Appe 
tite  Cure,  the  best  and  wisest  in  the  world." 

"  Is  that  where  you  got  your  idea?" 

"  That  is  where  I  got  it." 

"  It  taught  those  people  a  valuable  lesson." 

4<  What  makes  you  think  that  ?" 

"  Wh}'  shouldn't  I  ?  You  seem  to  think  it  taught 
you  one." 

"  That  is  nothing  to  the  point.  I  am  not  a 
fool." 

"  I  see.     Were  they  fools  ?" 

"  They  were  human  beings." 

"  Is  it  the  same  thing?" 

"  Why  do  you  ask?  You  know  it  yourself.  As 
regards  his  health — and  the  rest  of  the  things — the 


i6o 


average  man  is  what  his  environment  and  his 
superstitions  have  made  him;  and  their  function 
is  to  make  him  an  ass.  He  can't  add  up  three  or 
four  new  circumstances  together  and  perceive  what 
they  mean  ;  it  is  beyond  him.  He  is  not  capable 
of  observing  for  himself ;  he  has  to  get  everything 
at  "second-hand.  If  what  are  miscalled  the  lower 
animals  were  as  silly  as  man  is,  they  would  all 
perish  from  the  earth  in  a  year." 

"  Those  passengers  learned  no  lesson,  then?" 
"  Not  a  sign  of  it.     They  went  to  their  regular 
meals   in  the   English  ship,  and   pretty  soon  they 
were  nibbling  again — nibbling,  appetiteless,  disgust 
ed  with  the  food,  moody,  miserable,  half  hungry, 
their  outraged  stomachs  cursing  and  swearing  and 
whining  and  supplicating  all  day  long.     And  in 
vain,  for  they  were  the  stomachs  of  fools." 
"  Then,  as  I  understand  it,  your  scheme  is — " 
"  Quite  simple.     Don't  eat  till  you  are  hungry. 
If   the   food    fails   to   taste  good,  fails   to  satisfy 
you,    rejoice    you,    comfort  you,   don't    eat   again 
until    you  are  very  hungry.     Then  it  will  rejoice 
you — and  do  you  good,  too." 

"  And  I  observe  no  regularity,  as  to  hours?'' 
"  When  you  are  conquering  a  bad  appetite — no. 
After   it   is   conquered,  regularity  is   no   harm,  so 
long  as  the  appetite  remains    good.     As  soon  as 


the  appetite  wavers,  apply  the  corrective  again — 
which  is  starvation,  long  or  short  according  to  the 
needs  of  the  case." 

"  The  best  diet,  I  suppose — I  mean  the  whole- 
somest — " 

"  All  diets  are  wholesome.  Some  are  wholesomer 
than  others,  but  all  the  ordinary  diets  are  whole 
some  enough  for  the  people  who  use  them.  Wheth 
er  the  food  be  fine  or  coarse  it  will  taste  good  and 
it  will  nourish  if  a  watch  be  kept  upon  the  appetite 
and  a  little  starvation  introduced  every  time  it 
weakens.  Nansen  was  used  to  fine  fare,  but  when 
his  meals  were  restricted  to  bear-meat  months  at 
a  time  he  suffered  no  damage  and  no  discomfort, 
because  his  appetite  was  kept  at  par  through  the 
difficulty  of  getting  his  bear-meat  regularly." 

"  But  doctors  arrange  carefully  considered  and 
delicate  diets  for  invalids." 

"  They  can't  help  it.  The  invalid  is  full  of  in 
herited  superstitions  and  won't  starve  himself.  He 
believes  it  would  certainly  kill  him." 

"  It  would  weaken  him,  wouldn't  it?" 

"  Nothing  to  hurt.  Look  at  the  invalids  in  our 
shipwreck.  They  lived  fifteen  days  on  pinches  of 
raw  ham,  a  suck  at  sailor-boots,  and  general  starva 
tion.  It  weakened  them,  but  it  didn't  hurt  them. 
It  put  them  in  fine  shape  to  eat  heartily  of  hearty 

TI 


162 


food  and  build  themselves  up  to  a  condition  of 
robust  health.  But  they  do  not  perceive  that ; 
they  lost  their  opportunity  ;  they  remained  in 
valids  ;  it  served  them  right.  Do  you  know  the 
tricks  that  the  health-resort  doctors  play?" 

"  What  is  it?" 

"  My  system  disguised — covert  starvation.  Grape- 
cure,  bath-cure,  mud-cure — it  is  all  the  same.  The 
grape  and  the  bath  and  the  mud  make  a  show  and 
do  a  trifle  of  the  work — the  real  work  is  done  by 
the  surreptitious  starvation.  The  patient  accus 
tomed  to  four  meals  and  late  hours — at  both  ends 
of  the  day — now  consider  what  he  has  to  do  at  a 
health  resort.  He  gets  up  at  6  in  the  morning. 
Eats  one  egg.  Tramps  up  and  down  a  promenade 
two  hours  with  the  other  fools.  Eats  a  butterfly. 
Slowly  drinks  a  glass  of  filtered  sewage  that  smells 
like  a  buzzard's  breath.  Promenades  another  two 
hours,  but  alone ;  if  you  speak  to  him  he  says  anx 
iously,  '  My  water  ! — I  am  walking  off  my  water  ! — 
please  don't  interrupt,'  and  goes  stumping  along 
again.  Eats  a  candied  rose-leaf.  Lies  at  rest  in 
the  silence  and  solitude  of  his  room  for  hours ; 
mustn't  read,  mustn't  smoke.  The  doctor  comes 
and  feels  of  his  heart,  now,  and  his  pulse,  and  thumps 
his  breast  and  his  back  and  his  stomach,  and 
listens  for  results  through  a  penny  flageolet  ;  then 


orders  the  man's  bath — half  a  degree,  Reamur, 
cooler  than  yesterday.  After  the  bath  another 
egg.  A  glass  of  sewage  at  3  or  4  in  the  afternoon, 
and  promenade  solemnly  with  the  other  freaks. 
Dinner  at  6 — half  a  doughnut  and  a  cup  of  tea. 
Walk  again.  Half-past  8,  supper — more  butterfly  ; 
at  9,  to  bed.  Six  weeks  of  this  regime — think  of 
it.  It  starves  a  man  out  and  puts  him  in  splendid 
condition.  It  would  have  the  same  effect  in  Lon 
don,  New  York,  Jericho — anywhere." 

"  How  long  does  it  take  to  put  a  person  in  con 
dition  here?" 

"  It  ought  to  take  but  a  day  or  two ;  but  in 
fact  it  takes  from  one  to  six  weeks,  according  to 
the  character  and  mentality  of  the  patient." 

"  How  is  that?" 

"  Do  you  see  that  crowd  of  women  playing 
football,  and  boxing,  and  jumping  fences  yonder? 
They  have  been  here  six  or  seven  weeks.  They 
were  spectral  poor  weaklings  when  they  came. 
They  were  accustomed  to  nibbling  at  dainties  and 
delicacies  at  set  hours  four  times  a  day,  and  they 
had  no  appetite  for  anything.  I  questioned  them, 
and  then  locked  them  into  their  rooms — the  frailest 
ones  to  starve  nine  or  ten  hours,  the  others  twelve 
or  fifteen.  Before  long  they  began  to  beg;  and 
indeed  they  suffered  a  good  deal.  They  complained 


i64 


of  nausea,  headache,  and  so  on.  It  was  good  to 
see  them  eat  when  the  time  was  up.  They  could 
not  remember  when  the  devouring  of  a  meal  had 
afforded  them  such  rapture — that  was  their  word. 
Now,  then,  that  ought  to  have  ended  their  cure, 
but  it  didn't.  They  were  free  to  go  to  any  meals 
in  the  house,  and  they  chose  their  accustomed 
four.  Within  a  day  or  two  I  had  to  interfere. 
Their  appetites  were  weakening.  I  made  them 
knock  out  a  meal.  That  set  them  up  again.  Then 
they  resumed  the  four.  I  begged  them  to  learn 
to  knock  out  a  meal  themselves,  without  waiting 
for  me.  Up  to  a  fortnight  ago  they  couldn't  ; 
they  really  hadn't  manhood  enough  ;  but  they 
were  gaining  it,  and  now  I  think  they  are  safe. 
They  drop  out  a  meal  every  now  and  then  of 
their  own  accord.  They  are  in  fine  condition  now, 
and  they  might  safely  go  home,  I  think,  but  their 
confidence  is  not  quite  perfect  yet,  so  they  are 
waiting  awhile." 

"  Other  cases  are  different  ?" 

"  Oh  yes.  Sometimes  a  man  learns  the  whole 
trick  in  a  week.  Learns  to  regulate  his  appetite 
and  keep  it  in  perfect  order.  Learns  to  drop  out 
a  meal  with  frequency  and  not  mind  it." 

"  But  why  drop  the  entire  meal  out?  Why  not 
a  part  of  it?" 


"  It's  a  poor  device,  and  inadequate.  If  the 
stomach  doesn't  call  vigorously  —  with  a  shout,  as 
you  may  say — it  is  better  not  to  pester  it  but  just 
give  it  a  real  rest.  Some  people  can  eat  more  meals 
than  others,  and  still  thrive.  There  are  all  sorts  of 
people,  and  all  sorts  of  appetites.  I  will  show  you 
a  man  presently  who  was  accustomed  to  nibble  at 
eight  meals  a  day.  It  was  beyond  the  proper  gait 
of  his  appetite  by  two.  I  have  got  him  down  to 
six  a  day,  now,  and  he  is  all  right,  and  enjoys  life. 
How  many  meals  do  you  affect  per  day?" 

"  Formerly — for  twenty-two  years — a  meal  and  a 
half;  during  the  past  two  years,  two  and  a  half: 
coffee  and  a  roll  at  9,  luncheon  at  I,  dinner  at  7.30 
or  8." 

"  Formerly  a  meal  and  a  half — that  is,  coffee  and 
a  roll  at  9,  dinner  in  the  evening,  nothing  between 
—is  that  it  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Why  did  you  add  a  meal?" 

"  It  was  the  family's  idea.  They  were  uneasy. 
They  thought  I  was  killing  myself." 

"You  found  a  meal  and  a  half  per  day  enough, 
all  through  the  twenty-two  years?" 

"  Plenty." 

"  Your  present  poor  condition  is  due  to  the  extra 
meal.  Drop  it  out.  You  are  trying  to  eat  oftener 


1 66 


than  your  stomach  demands.  You  don't  gain,  you 
lose.  You  eat  less  food  now,  in  a  day,  on  two  and 
a  half  meals,  than  you  formerly  ate  on  one  and  a 
half." 

"True — a  good  deal  less;  for  in  those  old  days 
my  dinner  was  a  very  sizable  thing." 

"  Put  yourself  on  a  single  meal  a  day,  now — din 
ner — for  a  few  days,  till  you  secure  a  good,  sound, 
regular,  trustworthy  appetite,  then  take  to  your 
one  and  a  half  permanently,  and  don't  listen  to  the 
family  any  more.  When  you  have  any  ordinary 
ailment,  particularly  of  a  feverish  sort,  eat  nothing 
at  all  during  twenty-four  hours.  That  will  cure  it. 
It  will  cure  the  stubbornest  cold  in  the  head,  too. 
No  cold  in  the  head  can  survive  twenty-four  hours' 
unmodified  starvation." 

"  I  know  it.     I  have  proved  it  many  a  time." 


MY   FIRST  LIE,  AND   HOW  I   GOT 
OUT  OF   IT 

A">  I  understand  it,  what  you  desire  is  informa 
tion  about  "  my  first  lie,  and  how  I  got  out 
of  it."  I  was  born  in  1835  ;  I  am  well  along, 
and  my  memory  is  not  as  good  as  it  was.  If  you 
had  asked  about  my  first  truth  it  would  have  been 
easier  for  me  and  kinder  of  you,  for  I  remember 
that  fairly  well ;  I  remember  it  as  if  it  were  last 
week.  The  family  think  it  was  week  before,  but 
that  is  flattery  and  probably  has  a  selfish  project 
back  of  it.  When  a  person  has  become  seasoned 
by  experience  and  has  reached  the  age  of  sixty- 
four,  which  is  the  age  of  discretion,  he  likes  a  fam 
ily  compliment  as  well  as  ever,  but  he  does  not 
lose  his  head  over  it  as  in  the  old  innocent  days. 

I  do  not  remember  my  first  lie,  it  is  too  far  back; 
but  I  remember  my  second  one  very  well.  I  was 
nine  days  old  at  the  time,  and  had  noticed  that  if 
a  pin  was  sticking  in  me  and  I  advertised  it  in  the 
usual  fashion,  I  was  lovingly  petted  and  coddled 


1 68 


and  pitied  in  a  most  agreeable  way  and  got  a  ration 
between  meals  besides. 

It  was  human  nature  to  want  to  get  these  riches, 
and  I  fell.  I  lied  about  the  pin  —  advertising  one 
when  there  wasn't  any.  You  would  have  done  it  ; 
George  Washington  did  it,  anybody  would  have 
done  it.  During  the  first  half  of  my  life  I  never 
knew  a  child  that  was  able  to  rise  above  that  temp 
tation  and  keep  from  telling  that  lie.  Up  to  1867 
all  the  civilized  children  that  were  ever  born  into 
the  world  were  liars — including  George.  Then  the 
safety-pin  came  in  and  blocked  the  game.  But  is 
that  reform  worth  anything?  No  ;  for  it  is  reform 
by  force  and  has  no  virtue  in  it ;  it  merely  stops 
that  form  of  lying,  it  doesn't  impair  the  disposition 
to  lie,  by  a  shade.  It  is  the  cradle  application  of 
conversion  by  fire  and  sword,  or  of  the  temperance 
principle  through  prohibition. 

To  return  to  that  early  He.  They  found  no  pin 
and  they  realized  that  another  liar  had  been  added 
to  the  world's  supply.  For  by  grace  of  a  rare  in 
spiration  a  quite  commonplace  but  seldom  noticed 
fact  was  borne  in  upon  their  understandings — that 
almost  all  lies  are  acts,  and  speech  has  no  part  in 
them.  Then,  if  they  examined  a  little  further  they 
recognized  that  all  people  are  liars  from  the  cradle 
onward,  without  exception,  and  that  they  begin  to 


i69 

He  as  soon  as  they  wake  in  the  morning,  and  keep 
it  up  without  rest  or  refreshment  until  they  go  to 
sleep  at  night.  If  they  arrived  at  that  truth  it 
probably  grieved  them — did,  if  they  had  been  heed 
lessly  and  ignorantly  educated  by  their  books  and 
teachers  ;  for  why  should  a  person  grieve  over  a 
thing  which  by  the  eternal  law  of  his  make  he  can 
not  help  ?  He  didn't  invent  the  law  ;  it  is  merely 
his  business  to  obey  it  and  keep  still ;  join  the  uni 
versal  conspiracy  and  keep  so  still  that  he  shall  de 
ceive  his  fellow-conspirators  into  imagining  that  he 
doesn't  know  that  the  law  exists.  It  is  what  we  all 
do — we  that  know.  I  am  speaking  of  the  lie  of 
silent  assertion  ;  we  can  tell  it  without  saying  a 
word,  and  we  all  do  it — we  that  know.  In  the  mag 
nitude  of  its  territorial  spread  it  is  one  of  the  most 
majestic  lies  that  the  civilizations  make  it  their 
sacred  and  anxious  care  to  guard  and  watch  and 
propagate. 

For  instance.  It  would  not  be  possible  for  a 
humane  and  intelligent  person  to  invent  a  rational 
excuse  for  slavery  ;  yet  you  will  remember  that  in 
the  early  days  of  the  emancipation  agitation  in  the 
North  the  agitators  got  but  small  help  or  counte 
nance  from  any  one.  Argue  and  plead  and  pray 
as  they  might,  they  could  not  break  the  universal 
stillness  that  reigned,  from  pulpit  and  press  all  the 


way  down  to  the  bottom  of  society — the  clammy 
stillness  created  and  maintained  by  the  lie  of  silent 
assertion — the  silent  assertion  that  there  wasn't  any 
thing  going  on  in  which  humane  and  intelligent 
people  were  interested. 

From  the  beginning  of  the  Dreyfus  case  to  the 
end  of  it  all  France,  except  a  couple  of  dozen  moral 
paladins,  lay  under  the  smother  of  the  silent-asser 
tion  lie  that  no  wrong  was  being  done  to  a  perse 
cuted  and  unoffending  man.  The  like  smother  was 
over  England  lately,  a  good  half  of  the  population 
silently  letting  on  that  they  were  not  aware  that 
Mr.  Chamberlain  was  trying  to  manufacture  a  war 
in  South  Africa  and  was  willing  to  pay  fancy  prices 
for  the  materials. 

Now  there  we  have  instances  of  three  prominent 
ostensible  civilizations  working  the  silent -assertion 
lie.  Could  one  find  other  instances  in  the  three 
countries  ?  I  think  so.  Not  so  very  many,  per 
haps,  but  say  a  billion — just  so  as  to  keep  within 
bounds.  Are  those  countries  working  that  kind  of 
lie,  day  in  and  day  out,  in  thousands  and  thousands 
of  varieties,  without  ever  resting?  Yes,  we  know  that 
to  be  true.  The  universal  conspiracy  of  the  silent- 
assertion  lie  is  hard  at  work  always  and  everywhere, 
and  always  in  the  interest  of  a  stupidity  or  a  sham, 
never  in  the  interest  of  a  thing  fine  or  respectable. 


Is  it  the  most  timid  and  shabby  of  all  lies  ?  It 
seems  to  have  the  look  of  it.  For  ages  and  ages  it 
has  mutely  labored  in  the  interest  of  despotisms 
and  aristocracies  and  chattel  slaveries,  and  military 
slaveries,  and  religious  slaveries,  and  has  kept  them 
alive ;  keeps  them  alive  yet,  here  and  there  and 
yonder,  all  about  the  globe ;  and  will  go  on  keep 
ing  them  alive  until  the  silent-assertion  lie  retires 
from  business — the  silent  assertion  that  nothing  is 
going  on  which  fair  and  intelligent  men  are  aware 
of  and  are  engaged  by  their  duty  to  try  to  stop. 

What  I  am  arriving  at  is  this  :  When  whole  races 
and  peoples  conspire  to  propagate  gigantic  mute 
lies  in  the  interest  of  tyrannies  and  shams,  why 
should  we  care  anything  about  the  trifling  lies  told 
by  individuals?  Why  should  we  try  to  make  it 
appear  that  abstention  from  lying  is  a  virtue  ?  Why 
should  we  want  to  beguile  ourselves  in  that  way  ? 
Why  should  we  without  shame  help  the  nation  lie, 
and  then  be  ashamed  to  do  a  little  lying  on  our 
own  account  ?  Why  shouldn't  we  be  honest  and 
honorable,  and  lie  every  time  we  get  a  chance? 
That  is  to  say,  why  shouldn't  we  be  consistent,  and 
either  lie  all  the  time  or  not  at  all  ?  Why  should 
we  help  the  nation  lie  the  whole  day  long  and  then 
object  to  telling  one  little  individual  private  lie  in 
our  own  interest  to  go  to  bed  on?  Just  for  the  re- 


.  172 

freshment  of  it,  I  mean,  and  to  take  the  rancid  taste 
out  of  our  mouth. 

Here  in  England  they  have  the  oddest  ways. 
They  won't  tell  a  spoken  lie — nothing  can  persuade 
them.  Except  in  a  large  moral  interest,  like  pol 
itics  or  religion,  I  mean.  To  tell  a  spoken  lie  to 
get  even  the  poorest  little  personal  advantage  out 
of  it  is  a  thing  which  is  impossible  to  them.  They 
make  me  ashamed  of  myself  sometimes,  they  are 
so  bigoted.  They  will  not  even  tell  a  lie  for  the 
fun  of  it ;  they  will  not  tell  it  when  it  hasn't  even  a 
suggestion  of  damage  or  advantage  in  it  for  any 
one.  This  has  a  restraining  influence  upon  me  in 
spite  of  reason,  and  I  am  always  getting  out  of 
practice. 

Of  course,  they  tell  all  sorts  of  little  unspoken 
lies,  just  like  anybody;  but  they  don't  notice  it 
until  their  attention  is  called  to  it.  They  have  got 
me  so  that  sometimes  I  never  tell  a  verbal  lie  now 
except  in  a  modified  form  ;  and  even  in  the  modi 
fied  form  they  don't  approve  of  it.  Still,  that  is  as 
far  as  I  can  go  in  the  interest  of  the  growing  friend 
ly  relations  between  the  two  countries  ;  I  must  keep 
some  of  my  self-respect — and  my  health.  I  can  live 
on  a  pretty  low  diet,  but  I  can't  get  along  on  no 
sustenance  at  all. 

Of  course,  there    are    times  when    these   people 


173 


have  to  come  out  with  a  spoken  lie,  for  that  is  a 
thing  which  happens  to  everybody  once  in  a  while, 
and  would  happen  to  the  angels  if  they  came  down 
here  much.  Particularly  to  the  angels,  in  fact,  for 
the  lies  I  speak  of  are  self-sacrificing  ones  told  for 
a  generous  object,  not  a  mean  one;  but  even  when 
these  people  tell  a  lie  of  that  sort  it  seems  to  scare 
them  and  unsettle  their  minds.  It  is  a  wonderful 
thing  to  see,  and  shows  that  they  are  all  insane. 
In  fact,  it  is  a  country  which  is  full  of  the  most  in 
teresting  superstitions. 

I  have  an  English  friend  of  twenty- five  years' 
standing,  and  yesterday  when  we  were  coming 
down-town  on  top  of  the  'bus  I  happened  to  tell 
him  a  lie — a  modified  one,  of  course  ;  a  half-breed, 
a  mulatto;  I  can't  seem  to  tell  any  other  kind  now, 
the  market  is  so  flat.  I  was  explaining  to  him  how 
I  got  out  of  an  embarrassment  in  Austria  last  year. 
I  do  not  know  what  might  have  become  of  me  if 
I  hadn't  happened  to  remember  to  tell  the  police 
that  I  belonged  to  the  same  family  as  the  Prince  of 
Wales.  That  made  everything  pleasant  and  they 
let  me  go ;  and  apologized,  too,  and  were  ever  so 
kind  and  obliging  and  polite,  and  couldn't  do  too 
much  for  me,  and  explained  how  the  mistake  came 
to  be  made,  and  promised  to  hang  the  officer  that 
did  it,  and  hoped  I  would  let  bygones  be  bygones 


174 

and  not  say  anything  about  it ;  and  I  said  they 
could  depend  on  me.  My  friend  said,  austerely  : 

"  You  call  it  a  modified  lie  ?  Where  is  the  mod 
ification  ?" 

I  explained  that  it  lay  in  the  form  of  my  state 
ment  to  the  police. 

"  I  didn't  say  I  belonged  to  the  royal  family ;  I 
only  said  I  belonged  to  the  same  family  as  the 
Prince  —  meaning  the  human  family,  of  course; 
and  if  those  people  had  had  any  penetration  they 
would  have  known  it.  I  can't  go  around  furnish 
ing  brains  to  the  police ;  it  is  not  to  be  ex 
pected." 

"  How  did  you  feel  after  that  performance?" 

"  Well,  of  course  I  was  distressed  to  find  that  the 
police  had  misunderstood  me,  but  as  long  as  I  had 
not  told  any  lie  I  knew  there  was  no  occasion  to  sit 
up  nights  and  worry  about  it." 

My  friend  struggled  with  the  case  several  min 
utes,  turning  it  over  and  examining  it  in  his  mind, 
then  he  said  that  so  far  as  he  could  see  the  mod 
ification  was  itself  a  lie,  it  being  a  misleading  reser 
vation  of  an  explanatory  fact,  and  so  I  had  told 
two  lies  instead  of  only  one. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  done  it,"  said  he  ;  "  I  have 
never  told  a  lie,  and  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  do 
such  a  thing." 


175 

Just  then  he  lifted  his  hat  and  smiled  a  basketful 
of  surprised  and  delighted  smiles  down  at  a  gentle 
man  who  was  passing  in  a  hansom. 

"  Who  was  that,  G ?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"Then  why  did  you  do  that?" 

"  Because  I  saw  he  thought  he  knew  me  and  was 
expecting  it  of  me.  If  I  hadn't  done  it  he  would 
have  been  hurt.  I  didn't  want  to  embarrass  him 
before  the  whole  street." 

"Well,  your  heart  was  right,  G ,  and  your  act 

was  right.  What  you  did  was  kindly  and  courteous 
and  beautiful ;  I  would  have  done  it  myself;  but  it 
was  a  lie." 

"A  lie?  I  didn't  say  a  word.  How  do  you  make 
it  out?" 

"  I  know  you  didn't  speak,  still  you  said  to  him 
very  plainly  and  enthusiastically  in  dumb  show, 
'  Hello  !  you  in  town  ?  Awful  glad  to  see  you,  old 
fellow  ;  when  did  you  get  back  ?'  Concealed  in  your 
actions  was  what  you  have  called  '  a  misleading  res 
ervation  of  an  explanatory  fact' — the  fact  that  you 
had  never  seen  him  before.  You  expressed  joy  in 
encountering  him  —  a  lie;  and  you  made  that  res 
ervation — another  lie.  It  was  my  pair  over  again. 
But  don't  be  troubled — we  all  do  it." 

Two  hours  later,  at  dinner,  when  quite  other  mat- 


176 

ters  were  being  discussed,  he  told  how  he  happened 
along  once  just  in  the  nick  of  time  to  do  a  great  ser 
vice  for  a  family  who  were  old  friends  of  his.  The 
head  of  it  had  suddenly  died  in  circumstances  and 
surroundings  of  a  ruinously  disgraceful  character. 
If  known  the  facts  would  break  the  hearts  of  the 
innocent  family  and  put  upon  them  a  load  of  unen 
durable  shame.  There  was  no  help  but  in  a  giant 
lie,  and  he  girded  up  his  loins  and  told  it. 

"The  family  never  found  out,  G—  —  ?" 

"  Never.  In  all  these  years  they  have  never  sus 
pected.  They  were  proud  of  him  and  always  had 
reason  to  be;  they  are  proud  of  him  yet,  and  to 
them  his  memory  is  sacred  and  stainless  and  beau 
tiful." 

"  They  had  a  narrow  escape,  G ." 

"  Indeed  they  had." 

"  For  the  very  next  man  that  came  along  might 
have  been  one  of  these  heartless  and  shameless 
truth-mongers.  You  have  told  the  truth  a  million 

times  in  your  life,  G ,  but  that  one  golden  lie 

atones  for  it  all.  Persevere." 

Some  may  think  me  not  strict  enough  in  my 
morals,  but  that  position  is  hardly  tenable.  There 
are  many  kinds  of  lying  which  I  do  not  approve. 
I  do  not  like  an  injurious  lie,  except  when  it  in 
jures  somebody  else ;  and  I  do  not  like  the  lie  of 


177 

bravado,  nor  the  lie  of  virtuous  ecstasy  ;  the  latter 
was  affected  by  Bryant,  the  former  by  Carlyle. 

Mr.  Bryant  said,  "  Truth  crushed  to  earth  will 
rise  again."  I  have  taken  medals  at  thirteen  world's 
fairs,  and  may  claim  to  be  not  without  capacity,  but 
I  never  told  as  big  a  one  as  that  Mr.  Bryant  was 
playing  to  the  gallery  ;  we  all  do  it.  Carlyle  said, 
in  substance,  this  —  I  do  not  remember  the  exact 
words:  "This  gospel  is  eternal  —  that  a  lie  shall 
not  live."  I  have  a  reverent  affection  for  Carlyle's 
books,  and  have  read  his  Revolution  eight  times; 
and  so  I  prefer  to  think  he  was  not  entirely  at  him 
self  when  he  told  that  one.  To  me  it  is  plain  that 
he  said  it  in  a  moment  of  excitement,  when  chasing 
Americans  out  of  his  back -yard  with  brickbats. 
They  used  to  go  there  and  worship.  At  bottom 
he  was  probably  fond  of  them,  but  he  was  always 
able  to  conceal  it.  He  kept  bricks  for  them,  but 
he  was  not  a  good  shot,  and  it  is  matter  of  history 
that  when  he  fired  they  dodged,  and  carried  off  the 
brick ;  for  as  a  nation  we  like  relics,  and  so  long  as 
we  get  them  we  do  not  much  care  what  the  reli 
quary  thinks  about  it.  I  am  quite  sure  that  when 
he  told  that  large  one  about  a  lie  not  being  able  to 
live  he  had  just  missed  an  American  and  was  over 
excited.  He  told  it  above  thirty  years  ago,  but  it 
is  alive  yet;  alive,  and  very  healthy  and  hearty,  and 

12 


likely  to  outlive  any  fact  in  history.  Carlyle  was 
truthful  when  calm,  but  give  him  Americans  enough 
and  bricks  enough  and  he  could  have  taken  medals 
himself. 

As  regards  that  time  that  George  Washington 
told  the  truth,  a  word  must  be  said,  of  course.  It 
is  the  principal  jewel  in  the  crown  of  America,  and 
it  is  but  natural  that  we  should  work  it  for  all  it  is 
worth,  as  Milton  says  in  his  "Lay  of  the  Last  Min 
strel."  It  was  a  timely  and  judicious  truth,  and  I 
should  have  told  it  myself  in  the  circumstances. 
But  I  should  have  stopped  there.  It  was  a  stately 
truth,  a  lofty  truth  —  a  Tower;  and  I  think  it  was 
a  mistake  to  go  on  and  distract  attention  from  its 
sublimity  by  building  another  Tower  alongside  of 
it  fourteen  times  as  high.  I  refer  to  his  remark 
that  he  "could  not  lie."  I  should  have  fed  that  to 
the  marines ;  or  left  it  to  Carlyle  ;  it  is  just  in  his 
style.  It  would  have  taken  a  medal  at  any  Euro 
pean  fair,  and  would  have  got  an  Honorable  Men 
tion  even  at  Chicago  if  it  had  been  saved  up.  But 
let  it  pass  ;  the  Father  of  his  Country  was  excited. 
I  have  been  in  those  circumstances,  and  I  recollect. 

With  the  truth  he  told  I  have  no  objection  to 
offer,  as  already  indicated.  I  think  it  was  not  pre 
meditated,  but  an  inspiration.  With  his  fine  mil 
itary  mind,  he  had  probably  arranged  to  let  his 


179 

brother  Edward  in  for  the  cherry-tree  results,  but 
by  an  inspiraton  he  saw  his  opportunity  in  time  and 
took  advantage  of  it.  By  telling  the  truth  he  could 
astonish  his  father;  his  father  would  tell  the  neigh 
bors  ;  the  neighbors  would  spread  it ;  it  would  travel 
to  all  firesides  ;  in  the  end  it  would  make  him  Pres 
ident,  and  not  only  that,  but  First  President.  He 
was  a  far-seeing  boy  and  would  be  likely  to  think 
of  these  things.  Therefore,  to  my  mind,  he  stands 
justified  for  what  he  did.  But  not  for  the  other 
Tower;  it  was  a  mistake.  Still,  I  don't  know  about 
that ;  upon  reflection  I  think  perhaps  it  wasn't.  For 
indeed  it  is  that  Tower  that  makes  the  other  one 
live.  If  he  hadn't  said  "  I  cannot  tell  a  lie"  there 
would  have  been  no  convulsion.  That  was  the  earth 
quake  that  rocked  the  planet.  That  is  the  kind  of 
statement  that  lives  forever,  and  a  fact  barnacled 
to  it  has  a  good  chance  to  share  its  immortality. 

To  sum  up,  on  the  whole  I  am  satisfied  with 
things  the  way  they  are.  There  is  a  prejudice 
against  the  spoken  lie,  but  none  against  any  other, 
and  by  examination  and  mathematical  computa 
tion  I  find  that  the  proportion  of  the  spoken  lie  to 
the  other  varities  is  as  I  to  22,894.  Therefore  the 
spoken  lie  is  of  no  consequence,  and  it  is  not  worth 
while  to  go  around  fussing  about  it  and  trying  to 
make  believe  that  it  is  an  important  matter.  The 


i  So 


silent  colossal  National  Lie  that  is  the  support  and 
confederate  of  all  the  tyrannies  and  shams  and  in 
equalities  and  unfairnesses  that  afflict  the  peoples 
— that  is  the  one  to  throw  bricks  and  sermons 
at.  But  let  us  be  judicious  and  let  somebody  else 
begin. 

And  then —  But  I  have  wandered  from  my  text. 
How  did  I  get  out  of  my  second  lie  ?  I  think  I  got 
out  with  honor,  but  I  cannot  be  sure,  for  it  was  a 
long  time  ago  and  some  of  the  details  have  faded 
out  of  my  memory.  I  recollect  that  I  was  reversed 
and  stretched  across  some  one's  knee,  and  that 
something  happened,  but  I  cannot  now  remember 
what  it  was.  I  think  there  was  music  ;  but  it  is  all 
dim  now  and  blurred  by  the  lapse  of  time,  and  this 
may  be  only  a  senile  fancy. 


IS   HE   LIVING  OR   IS   HE   DEAD? 

1WAS  spending  the  month  of  March,  1892,  at 
Mentone,  in  the  Riviera.  At  this  retired  spot 
one  has  all  the  advantages,  privatel)',  which 
are  to  be  had  at  Monte  Carlo  and  Nice,  a  few 
miles  farther  along,  publicly.  That  is  to  say,  one 
has  the  flooding  sunshine,  the  balmy  air,  and  the 
brilliant  blue  sea,  without  the  marring  additions  of 
human  pow-wow  and  fuss  and  feathers  and  dis 
play.  Mentone  is  quiet,  simple,  restful,  unpreten 
tious;  the  rich  and  the  gaudy  do  not  come  there. 
As  a  rule,  I  mean,  the  rich  do  not  come  there. 
Now  and  then  a  rich  man  comes,  and  I  presently 
got  acquainted  with  one  of  these.  Partially  to 
disguise  him  I  will  call  him  Smith.  One  day,  in 
the  Hotel  des  Anglais,  at  the  second  breakfast,  he 
exclaimed  : 

"  Quick !  Cast  your  eye  on  the  man  going  out 
at  the  door.  Take  in  every  detail  of  him." 

"Why?" 

"  Do  you  know  who  he  is  ?" 


182 


"  Yes.  He  spent  several  days  here  before  you 
came.  He  is  an  old,  retired,  and  very  rich  silk 
manufacturer  from  Lyons,  they  say,  and  I  guess 
he  is  alone  in  the  world,  for  he  always  looks  sad 
and  dreamy,  and  doesn't  talk  with  anybody.  His 
name  is  Theophile  Magnan." 

I  supposed  that  Smith  would  now  proceed  to  jus 
tify  the  large  interest  which  he  had  shown  in  Mon 
sieur  Magnan,  but,  instead,  he  dropped  into  a  brown 
study,  and  was  apparently  lost  to  me  and  to  the 
rest  of  the  world  during  some  minutes.  Now  and 
then  he  passed  his  fingers  through  his  flossy  white 
hair,  to  assist  his  thinking,  and  meantime  he  al 
lowed  his  breakfast  to  go  on  cooling.  At  last  he 
said  : 

"  No,  it's  gone  ;  I  can't  call  it  back." 

"  Can't  call  what  back  ?" 

"  It's  one  of  Hans  Andersen's  beautiful  little 
stories.  But  it's  gone  from  me.  Part  of  it  is  like 
this:  A  child  has  a  caged  bird,  which  it  loves,  but 
thoughtlessly  neglects.  The  bird  pours  out  its 
song  unheard  and  unheeded  ;  but,  in  time,  hunger 
and  thirst  assail  the  creature,  and  its  song  grows 
plaintive  and  feeble  and  finally  ceases — the  bird 
dies.  The  child  comes,  and  is  smitten  to  the  heart 
with  remorse  ;  then,  with  bitter  tears  and  lamenta 
tions,  it  calls  its  mates,  and  they  bury  the  bird 


183 

with  elaborate  pomp  and  the  tenderest  grief,  with 
out  knowing,  poor  things,  that  it  isn't  children 
only  who  starve  poets  to  death  and  then  spend 
enough  on  their  funerals  and  monuments  to  have 
kept  them  alive  and  made  them  easy  and  comfort 
able.  Now— 
But  here  we  were  interrupted.  About  ten  that 
evening  I  ran  across  Smith,  and  he  asked  me  up 
to  his  parlor  to  help  him  smoke  and  drink  hot 
Scotch.  It  was  a  cosy  place,  with  its  comfortable 
chairs,  its  cheerful  lamps,  and  its  friendly  open  fire 
of  seasoned  olive-wood.  To  make  everything  per 
fect,  there  was  the  muffled  booming  of  the  surf 
outside.  After  the  second  Scotch  and  much  lazy 
and  contented  chat,  Smith  said : 

"Now   we    are    properly    primed  —  I    to   tell   a 
curious   history,   and  you   to   listen  to  it.     It  has 
been  a  secret  for  many  years  —  a  secret  between 
me  and  three  others ;  but  I  am  going  to  break  the 
seal  now.     Are  you  comfortable?" 
"  Perfectly.     Go  on." 
Here  follows  what  he  told  me : 
"A  long  time  ago  I  was  a  young  artist — a  very 
young  artist,  in  fact — and   I  wandered  about  the 
country    parts    of    France,    sketching    here    and 
sketching   there,    and   was   presently  joined    by  a 
couple  of'  darling  young  Frenchmen  who  were  at 


1 84 

the  same  kind  of  thing  that  I  was  doing.  We 
were  as  happy  as  we  were  poor,  or  as  poor  as  we 
were  happy — phrase  it  to  suit  yourself.  Claude 
Frere  and  Carl  Boulanger — these  are  the  names  of 
those  boys;  dear,  dear  fellows,  and  the  sunniest 
spirits  that  ever  laughed  at  poverty  and  had  a 
noble  good  time  in  all  weathers. 

"  At  last  we  ran  hard  aground  in  a  Breton  village, 
and  an  artist  as  poor  as  ourselves  took  us  in  and 
literally  saved  us  from  starving — Fran£ois  Millet — 

"  '  What !  the  great  Francois  Millet  ?' 

"  Great?  He  wasn't  any  greater  than  we  were, 
then.  He  hadn't  any  fame,  even  in  his  own  vil 
lage  ;  and  he  was  so  poor  that  he  hadn't  anything 
to  feed  us  on  but  turnips,  and  even  the  turnips 
failed  us  sometimes.  We  four  became  fast  friends, 
doting  friends,  inseparables.  We  painted  away  to 
gether  with  all  our  might,  piling  up  stock,  piling 
up  stock,  but  very  seldom  getting  rid  of  any  of  it. 
We  had  lovely  times  together ;  but,  O  my  soul ! 
how  we  were  pinched  now  and  then ! 

"  For  a  little  over  two  years  this  went  on.  At 
last,  one  day,  Claude  said : 

"  *  Boys,  we've  come  to  the  end.  Do  you  under 
stand  that?  —  absolutely  to  the  end.  Everybody 
has  struck  —  there's  a  league  formed  against  us. 
I've  been  all  around  the  village  and  it's  just  as  I 


i85 


tell  you.  They  refuse  to  credit  us  for  another  cen 
time  until  all  the  odds  and  ends  are  paid  up.' 

"  This  struck  us  cold.  Every  face  was  blank  with 
dismay.  We  realized  that  our  circumstances  were 
desperate,  now.  There  was  a  long  silence.  Finally, 
Millet  said,  with  a  sigh  : 

"  '  Nothing  occurs  to  me  —  nothing.  Suggest 
something,  lads.' 

"  There  was  no  response,  unless  a  mournful  si 
lence  may  be  called  a  response.  Carl  got  up, 
and  walked  nervously  up  and  down  a  while,  then 
said : 

"'It's  a  shame!  Look  at  these  canvases: 
stacks  and  stacks  of  as  good  pictures  as  anybody 
in  Europe  paints  —  I  don't  care  who  he  is.  Yes, 
and  plenty  of  lounging  strangers  have  said  the 
same — or  nearly  that,  anyway.' 

"  '  But  didn't  buy,'  Millet  said. 

"  '  No  matter,  they  said  it ;  and  it's  true,  too. 
Look  at  your  "  Angelas "  there!  Will  anybody 
tell  me— 

"  '  Pah,  Carl— my  "  Angelus"  !  I  was  offered  five 
francs  for  it.' 

"'When?' 

"  *  Who  offered  it  ?' 

"'Where  is  he?' 

"  '  Why  didn't  you  take  it  ?' 


1 86 

"  '  Come — don't  all  speak  at  once.  I  thought 
he  would  give  more — I  was  sure  of  it — he  looked 
it — so  I  asked  him  eight/ 

«  <  Well— and  then  ?' 

"  *  He  said  he  would  call  again.' 

"  '  Thunder  and  lightning  !     Why,  Frangois— 

"  '  Oh,  I  know — I  know  !  It  was  a  mistake,  and 
I  was  a  fool.  Boys,  I  meant  for  the  best  ;  you'll 
grant  me  that,  and  I— 

"  '  Why,  certainly,  we  know  that,  bless  your  dear 
heart  ;  but  don't  you  be  a  fool  again/ 

"  '  I  ?  I  wish  somebody  would  come  along  and 
offer  us  a  cabbage  for  it — you'd  see  !' 

"  *  A  cabbage  !  Oh,  don't  name  it — it  makes  my 
mouth  water.  Talk  of  things  less  trying.' 

"  '  Boys,'  said  Carl,  *  do  these  pictures  lack  merit  ? 
Answer  me  that.' 

"'No!' 

" '  Aren't  they  of  very  great  and  high  merit  ? 
Answer  me  that.' 

"  '  Yes.' 

"  *  Of  such  great  and  high  merit  that,  if  an  illus 
trious  name  were  attached  to  them,  they  would 
sell  at  splendid  prices.  Isn't  it  so  ?' 

"  'Certainly  it  is.     Nobody  doubts  that.' 

"  '  But — I'm  not  joking — isn't  it  so  ?' 

«  <  Why,  of  course  it's  so — and  we  are  not  joking. 


1 87 

But  what  of  it  ?  What  of  it  ?  How  does  that 
concern  us?' 

"  *  In  this  way,  comrades — we'll  attach  an  illus 
trious  name  to  them  !' 

"The  lively  conversation  stopped.  The  faces 
were  turned  inquiringly  upon  Carl.  What  sort  of 
riddle  might  this  be  ?  Where  was  an  illustrious 
name  to  be  borrowed  ?  And  who  was  to  bor 
row  it  ? 

"Carl  sat  down,  and  said  : 

"  '  Now,  I  have  a  perfectly  serious  thing  to  pro 
pose.  I  think  it  is  the  only  way  to  keep  us  out  of 
the  almshouse,  and  I  believe  it  to  be  a  perfectly 
sure  way.  I  base  this  opinion  upon  certain  mul 
titudinous  and  long- established  facts  in  human 
history.  I  believe  my  project  will  make  us  all 
rich.' 

"  '  Rich  !     You've  lost  your  mind.' 

"  '  No,  I  haven't.' 

"  '  Yes,  you  have — you've  lost  your  mind.  What 
do  you  call  rich  ?' 

"  *  A  hundred  thousand  francs  apiece/ 

"  '  He  has  lost  his  mind.     I  knew  it.' 

"  '  Yes,  he  has.  Carl,  privation  has  been  too 
much  for  you,  and — 

"  '  Carl,  you  want  to  take  a  pill  and  get  right  to 
bed.' 


i88 


"  '  Bandage  him  first  —  bandage  his  head,  and 
then—' 

"  '  No,  bandage  his  heels ;  his  brains  have  been 
settling  for  weeks — I've  noticed  it.' 

"  l  Shut  up  !'  said  Millet,  with  ostensible  severity, 
'  and  let  the  boy  say  his  say.  Now,  then — come 
out  with  your  project,  Carl.  What  is  it  ?' 

"  *  Well,  then,  by  way  of  preamble  I  will  ask  you 
to  note  this  fact  in  human  history  :  that  the  merit 
of  many  a  great  artist  has  never  been  acknowledged 
until  after  he  was  starved  and  dead.  This  has  hap 
pened  so  often  that  I  make  bold  to  found  a  law 
upon  it.  This  law  :  that  the  merit  of  every  great 
unknown  and  neglected  artist  must  and  will  be 
recognized,  and  his  pictures  climb  to  high  prices 
after  his  death.  My  project  is  this :  we  must  cast 
lots — one  of  us  must  die.' 

"  The  remark  fell  so  calmly  and  so  unexpectedly 
that  we  almost  forgot  to  jump.  Then  there  was  a 
wild  chorus  of  advice  again — medical  advice — for 
the  help  of  Carl's  brain  ;  but  he  waited  patiently 
for  the  hilarity  to  calm  down,  then  went  on  again 
with  his  project : 

"  '  Yes,  one  of  us  must  die,  to  save  the  others — 
and  himself.  We  will  cast  lots.  The  one  chosen 
shall  be  illustrious,  all  of  us  shall  be  rich.  Hold 
still,  now — hold  still  ;  don't  interrupt — I  tell  you  I 


i89 


know  what  I  am  talking  about.  Here  is  the  idea. 
During  the  next  three  months  the  one  who  is  to 
die  shall  paint  with  all  his  might,  enlarge  his  stock 
all  he  can — not  pictures,  no !  skeleton  sketches, 
studies,  parts  of  studies,  fragments  of  studies,  a 
dozen  dabs  of  the  brush  on  each — meaningless,  of 
course,  but  his,  with  his  cipher  on  them  ;  turn  out 
fifty  a  day,  each  to  contain  some  peculiarity  or  man 
nerism  easily  detectable  as  his — they  re  the  things 
that  sell,  you  know,  and  are  collected  at  fabulous 
prices  for  the  world's  museums,  after  the  great  man 
is  gone  ;  we'll  have  a  ton  of  them  ready — a  ton  ! 
And  all  that  time  the  rest  of  us  will  be  busy  sup 
porting  the  moribund,  and  working  Paris  and  the 
dealers — preparations  for  the  coming  event,  you 
know  ;  and  when  everything  is  hot  and  just  right, 
we'll  spring  the  death  on  them  and>  have  the 
notorious  funeral.  You  get  the  idea  ?' 

"  *  N-o  ;  at  least,  not  qu— - 

"  *  Not  quite  ?  Don't  you  see  ?  The  man  doesn't 
really  die ;  he  changes  his  name  and  vanishes  ;  we 
bury  a  dummy,  and  cry  over  it,  with  all  the  world 
to  help.  And  I— 

"  But  he  wasn't  allowed  to  finish.  Everybody 
broke  out  into  a  rousing  hurrah  of  applause  ;  and 
all  jumped  up  and  capered  about  the  room  and 
fell  on  each  other's  necks  in  transports  of  gratitude 


190 

and  joy.  For  hours  we  talked  over  the  great  plan, 
without  ever  feeling  hungry  ;  and  at  last,  when  all 
the  details  had  been  arranged  satisfactorily,  we  cast 
lots  and  Millet  was  elected — elected  to  die,  as  we 
called  it.  Then  we  scraped  together  those  things 
which  one  never  parts  with  until  he  is  betting  them 
against  future  wealth — keepsake  trinkets  and  such 
like — and  these  we  pawned  for  enough  to  furnish 
us  a  frugal  farewell  supper  and  breakfast,  and  leave 
us  a  few  francs  over  for  travel,  and  a  stake  of  tur 
nips  and  such  for  Millet  to  live  on  for  a  few  days. 

"  Next  morning,  early,  the  three  of  us  cleared 
out,  straightway  after  breakfast — on  foot,  of  course. 
Each  of  us  carried  a  dozen  of  Millet's  small  pict 
ures,  purposing  to  market  them.  Carl  struck  for 
Paris,  where  he  would  start  the  work  of  building 
up  Millet*  fame  against  the  coming  great  day. 
Claude  and  I  were  to  separate,  and  scatter  abroad 
over  France. 

"  Now,  it  will  surprise  you  to  know  what  an  easy 
and  comfortable  thing  we  had.  I  walked  two  days 
before  1  began  business.  Then  I  began  to  sketch 
a  villa  in  the  outskirts  of  a  big  town — because  I 
saw  the  proprietor  standing  on  an  upper  veranda. 
He  came  down  to  look  on — I  thought  he  would . 
I  worked  swiftly,  intending  to  keep  him  interested. 
Occasionally  he  fired  off  a  little  ejaculation  of  ap- 


probation,  and  by -and -by  he  spoke  up  with  en 
thusiasm,  and  said  I  was  a  master  ! 

"  I  put  down  my  brush,  reached  into  my  satchel, 
fetched  out  a  Millet,  and  pointed  to  the  cipher  in 
the  corner.  I  said,  proudly  : 

" '  I  suppose  you  recognize  that  ?  Well,  he 
taught  me !  I  should  think  I  ought  to  know  my 
trade !' 

"  The  man  looked  guiltily  embarrassed,  and  was 
silent.  I  said,  sorrowfully  : 

"'You  don't  mean  to  intimate  that  you  don't 
know  the  cipher  of  Francois  Millet !' 

"Of  course  he  didn't  know  that  cipher;  but  he 
was  the  gratefullest  man  you  ever  saw,  just  the 
same,  for  being  let  out  of  an  uncomfortable  place 
on  such  easy  terms.  He  said : 

"'No!  Why,  it  is  Millet's,  sure  enough!  I 
don't  know  what  I  could  have  been  thinking  of. 
Of  course  I  recognize  it  now.' 

"  Next,  he  wanted  to  buy  it ;  but  I  said  that 
although  I  wasn't  rich  I  wasn't  that  poor.  How 
ever,  at  last,  I  let  him  have  it  for  eight  hundred 
francs." 

"  Eight  hundred  !" 

"  Yes.  Millet  would  have  sold  it  for  a  pork 
chop.  Yes,  I  got  eight  hundred  francs  for  that  little 
thing.  I  wish  I  could  get  it  back  for  eighty  thou- 


192 

sand.  But  that  time's  gone  by.  I  made  a  very 
nice  picture  of  that  man's  house,  and  I  wanted  to 
offer  it  to  him  for  ten  francs,  but  that  wouldn't 
answer,  seeing  I  was  the  pupil  of  such  a  master, 
so  I  sold  it  to  him  for  a  hundred.  I  sent  the 
eight  hundred  francs  straight  back  to  Millet  from 
that  town  and  struck  out  again  next  day. 

"  But  I  didn't  walk — no.  I  rode.  I  have  ridden 
ever  since.  I  sold  one  picture  every  day,  and 
never  tried  to  sell  two.  I  always  said  to  my 
customer: 

" '  I  am  a  fool  to  sell  a  picture  of  Frangois  Mil 
let's  at  all,  for  that  man  is  not  going  to  live  three 
months,  and  when  he  dies  his  pictures  can't  be 
had  for  love  or  money.' 

"  I  took  care  to  spread  that  little  fact  as  far  as  I 
could,  and  prepare  the  world  for  the  event. 

"  I  take  credit  to  myself  for  our  plan  of  selling 
the  pictures — it  was  mine.  I  suggested  it  that  last 
evening  when  we  were  laying  out  our  campaign, 
and  all  three  of  us  agreed  to  give  it  a  good  fair 
trial  before  giving  it  up  for  some  other.  It  suc 
ceeded  with  all  of  us.  I  walked  only  two  days, 
Claude  walked  two  —  both  of  us  afraid  to  make 
Millet  celebrated  too  close  to  home  —  but  Carl 
walked  only  half  a  day,  the  bright,  conscienceless 
rascal,  and  after  that  he  travelled  like  a  duke. 


193 

"  Every  now  and  then  we  got  in  with  a  country 
editor  and  started  an  item  around  through  the 
press  ;  not  an  item  announcing  that  a  new  painter 
had  been  discovered,  but  an  item  which  let  on  that 
everybody  knew  Francois  Millet ;  not  an  item 
praising  him  in  any  way,  but  merely  a  word  con 
cerning  the  present  condition  of  the  "  master  "- 
sometimes  hopeful,  sometimes  despondent,  but 
always  tinged  with  fears  for  the  worst.  We 
always  marked  these  paragraphs,  and  sent  the 
papers  to  all  the  people  who  had  bought  pictures 
of  us. 

"Carl  was  soon  in  Paris,  and  he  worked  things 
with  a  high  hand.  He  made  friends  with  the  cor 
respondents,  and  got  Millet's  condition  reported  to 
England  and  all  over  the  continent,  and  America, 
and  everywhere. 

"At  the  end  of  six  weeks  from  the  start,  we  three 
met  in  Paris  and  called  a  halt,  and  stopped  send 
ing  back  to  Millet  for  additional  pictures.  The 
boom  was  so  high,  and  everything  so  ripe,  that  we 
saw  that  it  would  be  a  mistake  not  to  strike  now, 
right  away,  without  waiting  any  longer.  So  we 
wrote  Millet  to  go  to  bed  and  begin  to  waste  away 
pretty  fast,  for  we  should  like  him  to  die  in  ten 
days  if  he  could  get  ready. 

"Then  we  figured  up  and  found  that  among  us 
13 


'94- 

we  had  sold  eighty-five  small  pictures  and  studies, 
and  had  sixty-nine  thousand  francs  to  show  for  it. 
Carl  had  made  the  last  sale  and  the  most  brilliant 
one  of  all.  He  sold  the  'Angelas'  for  twenty-two 
hundred  francs.  How  we  did  glorify  him!  —  not 
foreseeing  that  a  day  was  coming  by-and-by  when 
France  would  struggle  to  own  it  and  a  stranger 
would  capture  it  for  five  hundred  and  fifty  thou 
sand,  cash. 

"  We  had  a  wind-up  champagne  supper  that  night, 
and  next  day  Claude  and  I  packed  up  and  went 
off  to  nurse  Millet  through  his  last  days  and  keep 
busybodies  out  of  the  house  and  send  daily  bulle 
tins  to  Carl  in  Paris  for  publication  in  the  papers 
of  several  continents  for  the  information  of  a  wait 
ing  world.  The  sad  end  came  at  last,  and  Carl 
was  there  in  time  to  help  in  the  final  mournful 
rites. 

"  You  remember  that  great  funeral,  and  what  a 
stir  it  made  all  over  the  globe,  and  how  the  illus 
trious  of  two  worlds  came  to  attend  it  and  testify 
their  sorrow.  We  four — still  inseparable —  carried 
the  coffin,  and  would  allow  none  to  help.  And  we 
were  right  about  that,  because  it  hadn't  anything 
in  it  but  a  wax  figure,  and  any  other  coffin-bearers 
would  have  found  fault  with  the  weight.  Yes,  we 
same  old  four,  who  had  lovingly  shared  privation 


195 

together  in  the  old  hard   times  now  gone   forever, 
carried  the  cof— 

-Which  four?" 

"We  four — for  Millet  helped  to  carry  his  own 
coffin.  In  disguise,  you  know.  Disguised  as  a 
relative — distant  relative." 

"Astonishing!" 

"  But  true,  just  the  same.  Well,  you  remember 
how  the  pictures  went  up.  Money?  We  didn't 
know  what  to  do  with  it.  There's  a  man  in  Paris 
to-day  who  owns  seventy  Millet  pictures.  He 
paid  us  two  million  francs  for  them.  And  as  for 
the  bushels  of  sketches  and  studies  which  Millet 
shovelled  out  during  the  six  weeks  that  we  were 
on  the  road,  well,  it  would  astonish  you  to  know 
the  figure  we  sell  them  at  nowadays  —  that  is, 
when  we  consent  to  let  one  go !" 

"  It  is  a  wonderful  history,  perfectly  wonderful !" 

"  Yes— it  amounts  to  that." 

"  Whatever  became  of  Millet?" 

"  Can  you  keep  a  secret  ?" 

"  I  can." 

"  Do  you  remember  the  man  I  called  your  atten 
tion  to  in  the  dining-room  to-day?  That  was 
Francois  Millet" 

"  Great—" 

"  Scott !    Yes.     For  once  they  didn't    starve   a 


196 

genius  to  death  and  then  put  into  other  pockets 
the  rewards  he  should  have  had  himself.  This 
song-bird  was  not  allowed  to  pipe  out  its  heart  un 
heard  and  then  be  paid  with  the  cold  pomp  of  a 
big  funeral.  We  looked  out  for  that." 


THE    ESQUIMAU    MAIDEN'S    ROMANCE 

'  \/ES,  I  will  tell  you  anything  about  my  life 

I       that  you  would  like  to  know,  Mr.  Twain," 

she  said,  in  her  soft  voice,  and  letting  her 

honest  eyes  rest  placidly  upon  my  face,  "  for  it  is 

kind    and    good    of  you    to   like   me   and   care  to 

know  about  me." 

She  had  been  absently  scraping  blubbef-grease 
from  her  cheeks  with  a  small  bone-knife  and  trans 
ferring  it  to  her  fur  sleeve,  while  she  watched  the 
Aurora  Borealis  swing  its  flaming  streamers  out  of 
the  sky  and  wash  the  lonely  snow-plain  and  the 
templed  icebergs  with  the  rich  hues  of  the  prism,  a 
spectacle  of  almost  intolerable  splendor  and  beauty  ; 
but  now  she  shook  off  her  reverie  and  prepared  to 
give  me  the  humble  little  history  I  had  asked  for. 
She  settled  herself  comfortably  on  the  block  of  ice 
which  we  were  using  as  a  sofa,  and  I  made  ready 
to  listen. 

She.  was  a  beautiful  creature.  I  speak  from  the 
Esquimaux  point  of  view.  Others  would  have 


thought  her  a  trifle  over-plump.  She  was  just 
twenty  years  old,  and  was  held  to  be  by  far  the 
most  bewitching  girl  in  her  tribe.  Even  now,  in 
the  open  air,  with  her  cumbersome  and  shapeless 
fur  coat  and  trousers  and  boots  and  vast  hood,  the 
beauty  of  her  face  was  at  least  apparent ;  but  her 
figure  had  to  be  taken  on  trust.  Among  all  the 
guests  who  came  and  went,  I  had  seen  no  girl  at 
her  father's  hospitable  trough  who  could  be  called 
her  equal.  Yet  she  was  not  spoiled.  She  was 
sweet  and  natural  and  sincere,  and  if  she  was  aware 
that  she  was  a  belle,  there  was  nothing  about  her 
ways  to  show  that  she  possessed  that  knowledge. 

She  had  been  my  daily  comrade  for  a  week  now, 
and  the  better  I  knew  her  the  better  I  liked  her. 
She  had  been  tenderly  and  carefully  brought  up, 
in  an  atmosphere  of  singularly  rare  refinement  for 
the  polar  regions,  for  her  father  was  the  most  im 
portant  man  of  his  tribe  and  ranked  at  the  top  of 
Esquimau  cultivation.  I  made  long  dog -sledge 
trips  across  the  mighty  ice-floes  with  Lasca — that 
was  her  name  —  and  found  her  company  always 
pleasant  and  her  conversation  agreeable.  I  went 
fishing  with  her,  but  not  in  her  perilous  boat :  I 
merely  followed  along  on  the  ice  and  watched  her 
strike  her  game  with  her  fatally  accurate  spear. 
We  went  sealing  together;  several  times  I  stood 


i99 

by  while  she  and  the  family  dug  blubber  from  a 
stranded  whale,  and  once  I  went  part  of  the  way 
when  she  was  hunting  a  bear,  but  turned  back  be 
fore  the  finish,  because  at  bottom  I  am  afraid  of 
bears. 

However,  she  was  ready  to  begin  her  story,  now, 
and  this  is  what  she  said : 

"  Our  tribe  had  always  been  used  to  wander  about 
from  place  to  place  over  the  frozen  seas,  like  the 
other  tribes,  but  my  father  got  tired  of  that,  two 
years  ago,  and  built  this  great  mansion  of  frozen 
snow-blocks — look  at  it ;  it  is  seven  feet  high  and 
three  or  four  times  as  long  as  any  of  the  others — 
and  here  we  have  stayed  ever  since.  He  was  very 
proud  of  his  house,  and  that  was  reasonable,  for 
if  you  have  examined  it  with  care  you  must  have 
noticed  how  much  finer  and  completer  it  is  than 
houses  usually  are.  But  if  you  have  not,  you  must, 
for  you  will  find  it  has  luxurious  appointments  that 
are  quite  beyond  the  common.  For  instance,  in  that 
end  of  it  which  you  have  called  the  *  parlor,'  the 
raised  platform  for  the  accommodation  of  guests 
and  the  family  at  meals  is  the  largest  you  have  ever 
seen  in  any  house — is  it  not  so?" 

"  Yes,  you  are  quite  right,  Lasca  ;  it  is  the  larg 
est ;  we  have  nothing  resembling  it  in  even  the  fin 
est  houses  in  the  United  States."  This  admission 


20O 


made  her  eyes  sparkle  with  pride  and  pleasure.  I 
noted  that,  and  took  my  cue. 

"  I  thought  it  must  have  surprised  you,"  she  said. 
"  And  another  thing :  it  is  bedded  far  cleeper  in  furs 
than  is  usual;  all  kinds  of  furs — seal,  sea -otter, 
silver-gray  fox,  bear,  marten,  sable — every  kind  of 
fur  in  profusion ;  and  the  same  with  the  ice-block 
sleeping-benches  along  the  walls,  which  you  call 
'  beds.'  Are  your  platforms  and  sleeping-benches 
better  provided  at  home?" 

"  Indeed,  they  are  not,  Lasca — they  do  not  be 
gin  to  be."  That  pleased  her  again.  All  she  was 
thinking  of  was  the  number  of  furs  her  aesthetic 
father  took  the  trouble  to  keep  on  hand,  not  their 
value.  I  could  have  told  her  that  those  masses  of 
rich  furs  constituted  wealth — or  would  in  my  coun 
try —  but  she  would  not  have  understood  that; 
those  were  not  the  kind  of  things  that  ranked  as 
riches  with  her  people.  I  could  have  told  her  that 
the  clothes  she  had  on,  or  the  every-day  clothes  of 
the  commonest  person  about  her,  were  worth  twelve 
or  fifteen  hundred  dollars,  and  that  I  was  not  ac- 
J  quainted  with  anybody  at  home  who  wore  twelve- 
hundred  dollar  toilets  to  go  fishing  in ;  but  she 
would  not  have  understood  it,  so  I  said  nothing. 
She  resumed : 

"  And  then  the  slop-tubs.     We  have  two  in  the 


201 

parlor,  and  two  in  the  rest  of  the  house.  It  is  very 
seldom  that  one  has  two  in  the  parlor.  Have  you 
two  in  the  parlor  at  home?" 

The  memory  of  those  tubs  made  me  gasp,  but  I 
recovered  myself  before  she  noticed,  and  said  with 
effusion  : 

"  Why,  Lasca,  it  is  a  shame  of  me  to  expose  my 
country,  and  you  must  not  let  it  go  further,  for  I 
am  speaking  to  you  in  confidence  ;  but  I  give  you 
my  word  of  honor  that  not  even  the  richest  man  in 
the  city  of  New  York  has  two  slop -tubs  in  his 
drawing-room." 

She  clapped  her  fur-clad  hands  in  innocent  de 
light,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  Oh,  but  you  cannot  mean  it,  you  cannot 
mean  it !" 

"  Indeed,  I  am  in  earnest,  dear.  There  is  Van- 
derbilt.  Vanderbilt  is  almost  the  richest  man  in 
the  whole  world.  Now,  if  I  were  on  my  dying 
bed,  I  could  say  to  you  that  not  even  he  has  two 
in  his  drawing-room.  Why,  he  hasn't  even  one — I 
wish  I  may  die  in  my  tracks  if  it  isn't  true." 

Her  lovely  eyes  stood  wide  with  amazement, 
and  she  said,  slowly,  and  with  a  sort  of  awe  in  her 
voice : 

"  How  strange — how  incredible — one  is  not  able 
to  realize  it.  Is  he  penurious?" 


202 


"No — it  isn't  that.  It  isn't  the  expense  he 
minds,  but- — er — well,  you  know,  it  would  look 
like  showing  off.  Yes,  that  is  it,  that  is  the  idea ; 
he  is  a  plain  man  in  his  way,  and  shrinks  from  dis- 
play." 

"Why,  that  humility  is  right  enough,"  said 
Lasca,  "  if  one  does  not  carry  it  too  far — but  what 
does  the  place  look  like  ?" 

"  Well,  necessarily  it  looks  pretty  barren  and  un 
finished,  but — " 

"  I  should  think  so  !  I  never  heard  anything 
like  it.  Is  it  a  fine  house — that  is,  otherwise?" 

"  Pretty  fine,  yes.     It  is  very  well  thought  of." 

The  girl  was  silent  awhile,  and  sat  dreamily 
gnawing  a  candle-end,  apparently  trying  to  think 
the  thing  out.  At  last  she  gave  her  head  a  little 
toss  and  spoke  out  her  opinion  with  decision  : 

"  Well,  to  my  mind  there's  a  breed  of  humility 
which  is  itself  a  species  of  showing-off,  when  you 
•get  down  to  the  yarrow  of  it  ;  and  when  a  man  is 
able  to  afford  two  slop-tubs  in  his  parlor,  and  don't 
do  it,  it  maybe  that  he  is  truly  humble-minded,  but 
it's  a  hundred  times  more  likely  that  he  is  just  try 
ing  to  strike  the  public  eye.  In  my  judgment, 
your  Mr.  Vanderbilt  knows  what  he  is  about." 

I  tried  to  modify  this  verdict,  feeling  that  a 
double  slop-tub  standard  was  not  a  fair  one  to  try 


203 

everybody  by,  although  a  sound  enough  one  in  its 
own  habitat  ;  but  the  girl's  head  was  set,  and 
she  was  not  to  be  persuaded.  Presently  she 
said : 

"  Do  the  rich  people,  with  you,  have  as  good 
sleeping-benches  as  ours,  and  made  out  of  as  nice 
broad  ice-blocks  ?" 

"  Well,  they  are  pretty  good  —  good  enough — 
but  they  are  not  made  of  ice-blocks." 

"I  want  to  know!  Why  aren't  they  made  of 
ice-blocks?" 

I  explained  the  difficulties  in  the  way,  and  the 
expensiveness  of  ice  in  a  country  where  you  have 
to  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  your  ice-man  or  your  ice- 
bill  will  weigh  more  than  your  ice.  Then  she  cried 
out : 

"  Dear  me,  do  you  buy  your  ice  ?" 

"  We  most  surely  do,  dear." 

She  burst  into  a  gale  of  guileless  laughter,  and 
said  : 

"  Oh,  I  never  heard  of  anything  so  silly  !  My, 
there's  plenty  of  it — it  isn't  worth  anything. 
Why,  there  is  a  hundred  miles  of  it  in  sight,  right 
now.  I  wouldn't  give  a  fish-bladder  for  the  whole 
of  it." 

"  Well,  it's  because  you  don't  know  how  to  value 
it,  you  little  provincial  muggins.  If  you  had  it  in 


204 

New  York  in  midsummer,  you  could  buy  all  the 
whales  in  the  market  with  it." 

She  looked  at  me  doubtfully,  and  said  : 

"  Are  you  speaking  true?" 

"  Absolutely.     I  take  my,  oath  to  it." 

This  made  her  thoughful.  Presently  she  said, 
with  a  little  sigh: 

"  I  wish  /could  live  there." 

I  had  merely  meant  to  furnish  her  a  standard  of 
values  which  she  could  understand  ;  but  my  pur 
pose  had  miscarried.  I  had  only  given  her  the  im 
pression  that  whales  were  cheap  and  plenty  in  New 
York,  and  set  her  mouth  to  watering  for  them.  It 
seemed  best  to  try  to  mitigate  the  evil  which  I  had 
done,  so  I  said : 

"  But  you  wouldn't  care  for  whale-meat  if  you 
lived  there.  Nobody  does." 

"  What !" 

"  Indeed  they  don't." 

"  Why  don't  they  ?" 

"Wel-1-1,  I  hardly  know.  It's  prejudice,  I 
think.  Yes,  that  is  it — just  prejudice.  I  reckon 
somebody  that  hadn't  anything  better  to  do  started 
a  prejudice  against  it,  some  time  or  other,  and  once 
you  get  a  caprice  like  that  fairly  going,  you  know, 
it  will  last  no  end  of  time." 

"  That  t's  true — perfectly  true,"  said  the  girl,  re- 


205 

flectively.  "  Like  our  prejudice  against  soap,  here — 
our  tribes  had  a  prejudice  against  soap  at  first,  you 
know." 

I  glanced  at  her  to  see  if  she  was  in  earnest. 
Evidently  she  was.  I  hesitated,  then  said,  cau 
tiously  : 

"  But  pardon  me.  They  had  a  prejudice  against 
soap  ?  Had  ?" — with  falling  inflection. 

"  Yes — but  that  was  only  at  first ;  nobody  would 
eat  it." 

"  Oh — I  understand.  I  didn't  get  your  idea  be 
fore." 

She  resumed  : 

"  It  was  just  a  prejudice.  The  first  time  soap 
came  here  from  the  foreigners,  nobody  liked  it  ; 
but  as  soon  as  it  got  to  be  fashionable,  everybody 
liked  it,  and  now  everybody  has  it  that  can  afford 
it.  Are  you  fond  of  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  I  should  die  if  I  couldn't  have 
it — especially  here.  Do  you  like  it  ?" 

"  I  just  adore  it !     Do  you  like  candles?" 

"  I  regard  them  as  an  absolute  necessity.  Are 
you  fond  of  them?" 

Her  eyes  fairly  danced,  and  she  exclaimed  : 

"Oh!  Don't  mention  it!  Candles!  — and 
soap!— 

"  And  fish-interiors  ! — " 


206 


"  And  train-oil ! — " 

11  And  slush  !— " 

" And  whale-blubber!— " 

"  And  carrion  !  and  sour-krout !  and  beeswax  ! 
and  tar  !  and  turpentine  !  and  molasses  !  and— 

"  Don't  —  oh,  don't  —  I  shall  expire  with  ec 
stasy  !— 

"  And  then  serve  it  all  up  in  a  slush-bucket,  and 
invite  the  neighbors  and  sail  in  !" 

But  this  vision  of  an  ideal  feast  was  too  much  for 
her,  and  she  swooned  away,  poor  thing.  I  rubbed 
snow  in  her  face  and  brought  her  to,  and  after 
a  while  got  her  excitement  cooled  down.  By-and- 
by  she  drifted  into  her  story  again : 

"  So  we  began  to  live  here,  in  the  fine  house. 
But  I  was  not  happy.  The  reason  was  this  :  I  was 
born  for  love  ;  for  me  there  could  be  no  true  hap 
piness  without  it.  I  wanted  to  be  loved  for  myself 
alone.  I  wanted  an  idol,  and  I  wanted  to  be  my 
idol's  idol ;  nothing  less  than  mutual  idolatry  would 
satisfy  my  fervent  nature.  I  had  suitors  in  plenty — 
in  over -plenty,  indeed  —  but  in  each  and  every 
case  they  had  a  fatal  defect ;  sooner  or  later  I  dis 
covered  that  defect  —  not  one  of  them  failed  to 
betray  it  —  it  was  not  me  they  wanted,  but  my 
wealth." 

"  Your  wealth  ?" 


207 

"  Yes;  for  my  father  is  much  the  richest  man  in 
this  tribe — or  in  any  tribe  in  these  regions." 

I  wondered  what  her  father's  wealth  consisted 
of.  It  couldn't  be  the  house — anybody  could  build 
its  mate.  It  couldn't  be  the  furs  — they  were  not 
valued.  It  couldn't  be  the  sledge,  the  dogs,  the 
harpoons,  the  boat,  the  bone  fish-hooks  and  needles, 
and  such  things — no,  these  were  not  wealth.  Then 
what  could  it  be  that  made  this  man  so  rich  and 
brought  this  swarm  of  sordid  suitors  to  his  house  ? 
It  seemed  to  me,  finally,  that  the  best  way  to  find 
out  would  be  to  ask.  So  I  did  it.  The  girl  was  so 
manifestly  gratified  by  the  question  that  I  saw  she 
had  been  aching  to  have  me  ask  it.  She  was  suffer 
ing  fully  as  much  to  tell  as  I  was  to  know.  She 
snuggled  confidentially  up  to  me  and  said : 

"  Guess  how  much  he  is  worth — you  never  can  !" 

I  pretended  to  consider  the  matter  deeply,  she 
watching  my  anxious  and  laboring  countenance  with 
a  devouring  and  delighted  interest ;  and  when,  at 
last,  I  gave  it  up  and  begged  her  to  appease  my  long 
ing  by  telling  me  herself  how  much  this  polar  Van- 
derbilt  was  worth,  she  put  her  mouth  close  to  my 
ear  and  whispered,  impressively  : 

"  Twenty-two  Jishrhooks — not  bone,  but  foreign — 
made  out  of  real  iron  /" 

Then  she  sprang  back  dramatically,  to  observe 


208 


the  effect.  •  I  did  my  level  best  not  to  disappoint 
her.  I  turned  pale  and  murmured  : 

"  Great  Scott !" 

"  It's  as  true  as  you  live,  Mr.  Twain !" 

"  Lasca,  you  are  deceiving  me  —  you  cannot 
mean  it." 

She  was  frightened  and  troubled.  She  ex 
claimed: 

"  Mr.  Twain,  every  word  of  it  is  true  —  every 
word.  You  believe  me — you  do  believe  me,  now 
don't  you  ?  Say  you  believe  me — do  say  you  be 
lieve  me !" 

"  I — well,  yes,  I  do — I  am  trying  to.  But  it  was 
all  so  sudden.  So  sudden  and  prostrating.  You 
shouldn't  do  such  a  thing  in  that  sudden  way. 
It—" 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry!     If  I  had  only  thought — " 

"  Well,  it's  all  right,  and  I  don't  blame  you  any 
more,  for  you  are  young  and  thoughtless,  and  of 
course  you  couldn't  foresee  what  an  effect — " 

"  But  oh,  dear,  I  ought  certainly  to  have  known 
better.  Why—" 

"  You  see,  Lasca,  if  you  had  said  five  or  six 
hooks,  to  start  with,  and  then  gradually— 

"  Oh,  I  see,  I  see — then  gradually  added  one, 
and  then  two,  and  then — ah,  why  couldn't  I  have 
thought  of  that !" 


209 

"  Never  mind,  child,  it's  all  right — I  am  better 
now — I  shall  be  over  it  in  a  little  while.  But — to 
spring  the  whole  twenty-two  on  a  person  unpre 
pared  and  not  very  strong  anyway — " 

"  Oh,  it  was  a  crime !  But  you  forgive  me — say 
you  forgive  me.  Do  !" 

After  harvesting  a  good  deal  of  very  pleasant 
coaxing  and  petting  and  persuading,  I  forgave  her 
and  she  was  happy  again,  and  by-and-by  she  got 
under  way  with  her  narrative  once  more.  I  pres 
ently  discovered  that  the  family  treasury  contained 
still  another  feature — a  jewel  of  some  sort,  appar 
ently — and  that  she  was  trying  to  get  around  speak 
ing  squarely  about  it,  lest  I  get  paralyzed  again. 
But  I  wanted  to  know  about  that  thing,  too,  and 
urged  her  to  tell  me  what  it  was.  She  was  afraid. 
But  I  insisted,  and  said  I  would  brace  myself  this 
time  and  be  prepared,  then  the  shock  would  not 
hurt  me.  She  was  full  of  misgivings,  but  the  temp 
tation  to  reveal  that  marvel  to  me  and  enjoy  my 
astonishment  and  admiration  was  too  strong  for 
her,  and  she  confessed  that  she  had  it  on  her  per 
son,  and  said  that  if  I  was  sure  I  was  prepared — 
and  so  on  and  so  on — and  with  that  she  reached 
into  her  bosom  and  brought  out  a  battered  square  v 
of  brass,  watching  my  eye  anxiously  the  while.  I 
fell  over  against  her  in  a  quite  well-acted  faint, 
14 


210 

which  delighted  her  heart  and  nearly  frightened  it 
out  of  her,  too,  at  the  same  time.  When  I  came 
to  and  got  calm,  she  was  eager  to  know  what  I 
thought  of  her  jewel. 

"  What  do  I  think  of  it  ?  I  think  it  is  the  most 
exquisite  thing  I  ever  saw." 

"  Do  you  really  ?  How  nice  of  you  to  say  that! 
But  it  is  a  love,  now  isn't  it?" 

"  Well,  I  should  say  so !  I'd  rather  own  it  than 
the  equator." 

"  I  thought  you  would  admire  it,"  she  said.  "  I 
think  it  is  so  lovely.  And  there  isn't  another  one 
in  all  these  latitudes.  People  have  come  all  the 
way  from  the  Open  Polar  Sea  to  look  at  it.  Did 
you  ever  see  one  before?" 

I  said  no,  this  was  the  first  one  I  had  ever  seen. 
It  cost  me  a  pang  to  tell  that  generous  lie,  for  I 
had  seen  a  million  of  them  in  my  time,  this  hum 
ble  jewel  of  hers  being  nothing  but  a  battered  old 
•  New  York  Central  baggage-check. 

"Land  !"  said  I,  "you  don't  go  about  with  it  on 
your  person  this  way,  alone  and  with  no  protec 
tion,  not  even  a  dog?" 

"  Ssh  !  not  so  loud,"  she  said.  "  Nobody  knows 
I  carry  it  with  me.  They  think  it  is  in  papa's 
treasury.  That  is  where  it  generally  is." 

"  Where  is  the  treasury?" 


211 


It  was  a  blunt  question,  and  for  a  moment  she 
looked  startled  and  a  little  suspicious,  but  I  said : 

"  Oh,  come,  don't  you  be  afraid  about  me.  At 
home  we  have  seventy  millions  of  people,  and  al 
though  I  say  it  myself  that  shouldn't,  there  is  not 
one  person  among  them  all  but  would  trust  me 
with  untold  fish-hooks." 

This  reassured  her,  and  she  told  me  where  the 
hooks  were  hidden  in  the  house.  Then  she  wan 
dered  from  her  course  to  brag  a  little  about  the 
size  of  the  sheets  of  transparent  ice  that  formed 
the  windows  of  the  mansion,  and  asked  me  if  I 
had  ever  seen  their  like  at  home,  and  I  came  right 
out  frankly  and  confessed  that  I  hadn't,  which 
pleased  her  more  than  she  could  find  words  to 
dress  her  gratification  in.  It  was  so  easy  to  please 
her,  and  such  a  pleasure  to  do  it  that  I  went  on 
and  said — 

"  Ah,  Lasca,  you  are  a  fortunate  girl ! — this  beau 
tiful  house,  this  dainty  jewel,  that  rich  treasure,  all 
this  elegant  snow,  and  sumptuous  icebergs  and 
limitless  sterility,  and  public  bears  and  walruses, 
and  noble  freedom  and  largeness,  and  everybody's 
admiring  eyes  upon  you,  and  everybody's  homage 
and  respect  at  your  command  without  the  asking ; 
young,  rich,  beautiful,  sought,  courted,  envied,  not 
a  requirement  unsatisfied,  not  a  desire  ungratified, 


212 


nothing  to  wish  for  that  you  cannot  have — it  is  im 
measurable  good-fortune  !  I  have  seen  myriads  of 
girls,  but  none  of  whom  these  extraordinary  things 
could  be  truthfully  said  but  you  alone.  And  you 
are  worthy — worthy  of  it  all,  Lasca — I  believe  it 
in  my  heart." 

It  made  her  infinitely  proud  and  happy  to  hear 
me  say  this,  and  she  thanked  me  over  and  over 
again  for  that  closing  remark,  and  her  voice  and 
eyes  showed  that  she  was  touched.  Presently  she 
said : 

"Still,  it  is  not  all  sunshine  —  there  is  a  cloudy 
side.  The  burden  of  wealth  is  a  heavy  one  to 
bear.  Sometimes  I  have  doubted  if  it  were  not 
better  to  be  poor  —  at  least  not  inordinately  rich. 
It  pains  me  to  see  neighboring  tribesmen  stare  as 
they  pass  by,  and  overhear  them  say,  reverently, 
one  to  another,  '  There — that  is  she — the  million 
aire's  daughter !'  And  sometimes  they  say  sor 
rowfully,  '  She  is  rolling  in  fish-hooks,  and  I  —  I 
have  nothing.'  It  breaks  my  heart.  When  I  was 
a  child  and  we  were  poor,  we  slept  with  the  door 
open,  if  we  chose,  but  now — now  we  have  to  have 
a  night-watchman.  In  those  days  my  father  was 
gentle  and  courteous  to  all ;  but  now  he  is  austere 
and  haughty,  and  cannot  abide  familiarity.  Once 
his  family  were  his  sole  thought,  but  now  he  goes 


213 

about  thinking  of  his  fish-hooks  all  the  time.  And 
his  wealth  makes  everybody  cringing  and  obse 
quious  to  him.  Formerly  nobody  laughed  at  his 
jokes,  they  being  always  stale  and  far-fetched  and 
poor,  and  destitute  of  the  one  element  that  can 
really  justify  a  joke  —  the  element  of  humor;  but 
now  everybody  laughs  and  cackles  at  those  dismal 
things,  and  if  any  fails  to  do  it  my  father  is  deeply 
displeased,  and  shows  it.  Formerly  his  opinion 
was  not  sought  upon  any  matter  and  was  not  valu 
able  when  he  volunteered  it  ;  it  has  that  infirmity 
yet,  but,  nevertheless,  it  is  sought  by  all  and  ap 
plauded  by  all  —  and  he  helps  do  the  applauding 
himself,  having  no  true  delicacy  and  a  plentiful 
want  of  tact.  He  has  lowered  the  tone  of  all  our 
tribe.  Once  they  were  a  frank  and  manly  race,  now 
they  are  measly  hypocrites,  and  sodden  with  ser 
vility.  In  my  heart  of  hearts  I  hate  all  the  ways 
of  millionaires  !  Our  tribe  was  once  plain,  simple 
folk,  and  content  with  the  bone  fish-hooks  of  their 
fathers  ;  now  they  are  eaten  up  with  avarice  and 
would  sacrifice  every  sentiment  of  honor  and 
honesty  to  possess  themselves  of  the  debasing  iron 
fish-hooks  of  the  foreigner.  However,  I  must  not 
dwell  on  these  sad  things.  As  I  have  said,  it  was 
my  dream  to  be  loved  for  myself  alone. 

"  At  last,  this  dream  seemed  about  to  be  fulfilled. 


214 

A  stranger  came  by,  one  day,  who  said  his  name 
was  Kalula.  I  told  him  my  name,  and  he  said  he 
loved  me.  My  heart  gave  a  great  bound  of  grati 
tude  and  pleasure,  for  I  had  loved  him  at  sight,  and 
now  I  said  so.  He  took  me  to  his  breast  and  said 
he  would  not  wish  to  be  happier  than  he  was  now. 
We  went  strolling  together  far  over  the  ice-floes, 
telling  all  about  each  other,  and  planning,  oh,  the 
loveliest  future !  When  we  were  tired  at  last  we 
sat  down  and  ate,  for  he  had  soap  and  candles 
and  I  had  brought  along  some  blubber.  We  were 
hungry,  and  nothing  was  ever  so  good. 

"  He  belonged  to  a  tribe  whose  haunts  were  far 
to  the  north,  and  I  found  that  he  had  never  heard 
of  my  father,  which  rejoiced  me  exceedingly.  I 
mean  he  had  heard  of  the  millionaire,  but  had 
never  heard  his  name — so,  you  see,  he  could  not 
know  that  I  was  the  heiress.  You  may  be  sure 
that  I  did  not  tell  him.  I  was  loved  for  myself  at 
last,  and  was  satisfied.  I  was  so  happy  —  oh,  hap 
pier  than  you  can  think ! 

"  By-and-by  it  was  toward  supper  time,  and  I 
led  him  home.  As  we  approached  our  house  he 
was  amazed,  and  cried  out : 

"  '  How  splendid  !     Is  that  your  father's?' 

"  It  gave  me  a  pang  to  hear  that  tone  and  see 
that  admiring  light  in  his  eye,  but  the  feeling 


215 


quickly  passed  away,  for  I  loved  him  so,  and  he 
looked  so  handsome  and  noble.  All  my  family  of 
aunts  and  uncles  and  cousins  were  pleased  with 
him,  and  many  guests  were  called  in,  and  the 
house  was  shut  up  tight  and  the  rag  lamps  lighted, 
and  when  everything  was  hot  and  comfortable  and 
suffocating,  we  began  a  joyous  feast  in  celebration 
of  my  betrothal. 

"  When  the  feast  was  over,  my  father's  vanity 
overcame  him,  and  he  could  not  resist  the  tempta 
tion  to  show  off  his  riches  and  let  Kalula  see  what 
grand  good -fortune  he  had  stumbled  into  —  and 
mainly,  of  course,  he  wanted  to  enjoy  the  poor 
man's  amazement.  I  could  have  cried  —  but  it 
would  have  done  no  good  to  try  to  dissuade  my 
father,  so  I  said  nothing,  but  merely  sat  there  and 
suffered. 

"  My  father  went  straight  to  the  hiding-place, 
in  full  sight  of  everybody,  and  got  out  the  fish 
hooks  and  brought  them  and  flung  them  scat- 
teringly  over  my  head,  so  that  they  fell  in  glit 
tering  /confusion  on  the  platform  at  my  lover's 
knee. 

"  Of  course,  the  astounding  spectacle  took  the 
poor  lad's  breath  away.  He  could  only  stare  in 
stupid  astonishment,  and  wonder  how  a  single 
individual  could  possess  such  incredible  riches, 


216 

Then  presently  he  glanced  brilliantly  up  and 
exclaimed  : 

u<  Ah,  it  is  you  who  are  the  renowned  million 
aire  !' 

"  My  father  and  all  the  rest  burst  into  shouts  of 
happy  laughter,  and  when  my  father  gathered  the 
treasure  carelessly  up  as  if  it  might  be  mere  rub 
bish  and  of  no  consequence,  and  carried  it  back  to 
its  place,  poor  Kalula's  surprise  was  a  study.  He 
said : 

"  '  Is  it  possible  that  you  put  such  things  away 
without  counting  them  ?' 

"My  father  delivered  a  vain-glorious  horse-laugh, 
and  said : 

"  '  Well,  truly,  a  body  may  know  you  have  never 
been  rich,  since  a  mere  matter  of  a  fish-hook  or 
two  is  such  a  mighty  matter  in  your  eyes.' 

"  Kalula  was  confused,  and  hung  his  head,  but 
said : 

"  'Ah,  indeed,  sir,  I  was  never  worth  the  value  of 
the  barb  of  one  of  those  precious  things,  and  I 
have  never  seen  any  man  before  who  was  so  rich  in 
them  as  to  render  the  counting  of  his  hoard  worth 
while,  since  the  wealthiest  man  I  have  ever  known, 
till  now,  was  possessed  of  but  three/ 

"  My  foolish  father  roared  again  with  jejune  de 
light,  and  allowed  the  impression  to  remain  that 


he  was  not  accustomed  to  count  his  hooks  and 
keep  sharp  watch  over  them.  He  was  showing  off, 
you  see.  Count  them  ?  Why,  he  counted  them 
every  day ! 

"  I  had  met  and  got  acquainted  with  my  darling 
just  at  dawn  ;  I  had  brought  him  home  just  at 
dark,  three  hours  afterward  —  for  the  days  were 
shortening  toward  the  six -months  night  at  that 
time.  We  kept  up  the  festivities  many  hours; 
then,  at  last,  the  guests  departed  and  the  rest  of  us 
distributed  ourselves  along  the  walls  on  sleeping- 
benches,  and  soon  all  were  steeped  in  dreams  but 
me.  I  was  too  happy,  too  excited,  to  sleep.  After 
I  had  lain  quiet  a  long,  long  time,  a  dim  form 
passed  by  me  and  was  swallowed  up  in  the  gloom 
that  pervaded  the  farther  end  of  the  house.  I 
could  not  make  out  who  it  was,  or  whether  it  was 
man  or  woman.  Presently  that  figure  or  another 
one  passed  me  going  the  other  way.  I  wondered 
what  it  all  meant,  but  wondering  did  no  good  ;  and 
while  I  was  still  wondering  I  fell  asleep. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  long  I  slept,  but  at  last  I 
came  suddenly  broad  awake  and  heard  my  father 
say  in  a  terrible  voice,  '  By  the  great  Snow  God, 
there's  a  fish-hook  gone !'  Something  told  me  that 
that  meant  sorrow  for  me,  and  the  blood  in  my 
veins  turned  cold.  The  presentiment  was  con- 


2l8 


firmed  in  the  same  instant :  my  father  shouted, 
'  Up,  everybody,  and  seize  the  stranger !'  Then 
there  was  an  outburst  of  cries  and  curses  from  all 
sides,  and  a  wild  rush  of  dim  forms  through  the 
obscurity.  I  flew  to  my  beloved's  help,  but  what 
could  I  do  but  wait  and  wring  my  hands? — he  was 
already  fenced  away  from  me  by  a  living  wall,  he 
was  being  bound  hand  and  foot.  Not  until  he  was 
secured  would  they  let  me  get  to  him.  I  flung 
myself  upon  his  poor  insulted  form  and  cried  my 
grief  out  upon  his  breast  while  my  father  and  all 
my  family  scoffed  at  me  and  heaped  threats  and 
shameful  epithets  upon  him.  He  bore  his  ill  usage 
with  a  tranquil  dignity  which  endeared  him  to  me 
more  than  ever  and  made  me  proud  and  happy  to 
suffer  with  him  and  for  him.  I  heard  my  father 
order  that  the  elders  of  the  tribe  be  called  together 
to  try  my  Kalula  for  his  life. 

"  '  What  ?'  I  said,  *  before  any  search  has  been 
made  for  the  lost  hook?' 

"  '  Lost  hook  !'  they  all  shouted,  in  derision  ;  and 
my  father  added,  mockingly,  *  Stand  back,  every 
body,  and  be  properly  serious  —  she  is  going  to 
hunt  up  that  lost  hook ;  oh,  without  doubt  she  will 
find  it !' — whereat  they  all  laughed  again. 

"  I  was  not  disturbed — I  had  no  fears,  no  doubts. 
I  said : 


2I9 

"'It  is  for  you  to  laugh  now;  it  is  your  turn. 
But  ours  is  coming ;  wait  and  see.' 

"  I  got  a  rag-lamp.  I  thought  I  should  find  that 
miserable  thing  in  one  little  moment  ;  and  I  set 
about  the  matter  with  such  confidence  that  those 
people  grew  grave,  beginning  to  suspect  that  perhaps 
they  had  been  too  hasty.  But,  alas  and  alas ! — oh, 
the  bitterness  of  that  search !  There  was  deep  si 
lence  while  one  might  count  his  fingers  ten  or  twelve 
times,  then  my  heart  began  to  sink,  and  around  me 
the  mockings  began  again,  and  grew  steadily  loud 
er  and  more  assured,  until  at  last,  when  I  gave  up, 
they  burst  into  volley  after  volley  of  cruel  laughter. 

"  None  will  ever  know  what  I  suffered  then. 
But  my  love  was  my  support  and  my  strength,  and 
I  took  my  rightful  place  at  my  Kalula's  side,  and 
put  my  arm  about  his  neck,  and  whispered  in  his 
ear,  saying  : 

"  '  You  are  innocent,  my  own — that  I  know  ;  but 
say  it  to  me  yourself,  for  my  comfort,  then  I  can 
bear  whatever  is  in  store  for  us.' 

"  He  answered  : 

"'As  surely  as  I  stand  upon  the  brink  of  death 
at  this  moment,  I  am  innocent.  Be  comforted, 
then,  O  bruised  heart ;  be  at  peace,  O  thou  breath 
of  my  nostrils,  life  of  my  life !' 

"  *  Now,  then,  let  the  elders  come  !.'— and   as  I 


220 

said  the  words  there  was  a  gathering  sound  of 
crunching  snow  outside,  and  then  a  vision  of  stoop 
ing  forms  filing  in  at  the  door — the  elders. 

"  My  father  formally  accused  the  prisoner,  and 
detailed  the  happenings  of  the  night.  He  said  that 
the  watchman  was  outside  the  door,  and  that  in  the 
house  were  none  but  the  family  and  the  stranger. 
'  Would  the  family  steal  their  own  property  ?*  He 
paused.  The  elders  sat  silent  many  minutes  ;  at 
last,  one  after  another  said  to  his  neighbor,  '  This 
looks  bad  for  the  stranger  ' — sorrowful  words  for 
me  to  hear.  Then  my  father  sat  down.  O  misera 
ble,  miserable  me!  at  that  very  moment  I  could  have 
proved  my  darling  innocent,  but  I  did  not  know  it ! 

"  The  chief  of  the  court  asked  : 

"  '  Is  there  any  here  to  defend  the  prisoner?' 

"  I  rose  and  said : 

"  *  Why  should  he  steal  that  hook,  or  any  or  all 
of  them?  In  another  day  he  would  have  been 
heir  to  the  whole  !' 

"  I  stood  waiting.  There  was  a  long  silence,  the 
steam  from  the  many  breaths  rising  about  me  like 
a  fog.  At  last,  one  elder  after  another  nodded  his 
head  slowly  several  times,  and  muttered,  'There  is 
force  in  what  the  child  has  said.'  Oh,  the  heart- 
lift  that  was  in  those  words ! — so  transient,  but,  oh, 
so  precious !  I  sat  down. 


221 


"  '  If  any  would  say  further,  let  him  speak  now, 
or  after  hold  his  peace/  said  the  chief  of  the 
court. 

"  My  father  rose  and  said  : 

"  '  In  the  night  a  form  passed  by  me  in  the  gloom, 
going  toward  the  treasury,  and  presently  returned. 
I  think,  now,  it  was  the  stranger.' 

"  Oh,  I  was  like  to  swoon !  I  had  supposed  that 
that  was  my  secret ;  not  the  grip  of  the  great  Ice 
God  himself  could  have  dragged  it  out  of  my  heart. 
The  chief  of  the  court  said  sternly  to  my  poor 
Kalula : 

"  '  Speak  !' 

"  Kalula  hesitated,  then  answered  : 

"  '  It  was  I.  I  could  not  sleep  for  thinking  of 
the  beautiful  hooks.  I  went  there  and  kissed 
them  and  fondled  them,  to  appease  my  spirit 
and  drown  it  in  a  harmless  joy,  then  I  put  them 
back.  I  may  have  dropped  one,  but  I  stole 
none.' 

"  Oh,  a  fatal  admission  to  make  in  such  a  place ! 
There  was  an  awful  hush.  I  knew  he  had  pro 
nounced  his  own  doom,  and  that  all  was  over.  On 
every  face  you  could  see  the  words  hieroglyphed  : 
'  It  is  a  confession  ! — and  paltry,  lame,  and  thin.' 

"  I  sat  drawing  in  my  breath  in  faint  gasps — 
and  waiting.  Presently,  I  heard  the  solemn  words 


222 

I  knew  were  coming;  and  each  word,  as  it  came, 
was  a  knife  in  my  heart : 

"  '  It  is  the  command  of  the  court  that  the  ac 
cused  be  subjected  to  the  trial  by  water' 

"  Oh,  curses  be  upon  the  head  of  him  who 
brought  'trial  by  water'  to  our  land!  It  came, 
generations  ago,  from  some  far  country  that  lies 
none  knows  where.  Before  that,  our  fathers  used 
augury  and  other  unsure  methods  of  trial,  and 
doubtless  some  poor,  guilty  creatures  escaped  with 
their  lives  sometimes ;  but  it  is  not  so  with  trial  by 
water,  which  is  an  invention  by  wiser  men  than  we 
poor,  ignorant  savages  are.  By  it  the  innocent  are 
proved  innocent,  without  doubt  or  question,  for 
they  drown  ;  and  the  guilty  are  proven  guilty  with 
the  same  certainty,  for  they  do  not  drown.  My 
heart  was  breaking  in  my  bosom,  for  I  said,  '  He 
is  innocent,  and  he  will  go  down  under  the  waves 
and  I  shall  never  see  him  more.' 

"  I  never  left  his  side  after  that.  I  mourned  in 
his  arms  all  the  precious  hours,  and  he  poured  out 
the  deep  stream  of  his  love  upon  me,  and  oh,  I  was 
so  miserable  and  so  happy  !  At  last,  they  tore  him 
from  me,  and  I  followed  sobbing  after  them,  and 
saw  them  fling  him  into  the  sea — then  I  covered 
my  face  with  my  hands.  Agony  ?  Oh,  I  know 
the  deepest  deeps  of  that  word ! 


223 

"  The  next  moment  the  people  burst  into  a 
shout  of  malicious  joy,  and  I  took  away  my  hands, 
startled.  Oh,  bitter  sight  —  he  was  swimming! 
My  heart  turned  instantly  to  stone,  to  ice.  I  said, 
1  He  was  guilty,  and  he  lied  to  me  !'  I  turned  my 
back  in  scorn  and  went  my  way  homeward. 

"  They  took  him  far  out  to  sea  and  set  him  on 
an  iceberg  that  was  drifting  southward  in  the  great 
waters.  Then  my  family  came  home,  and  my 
father  said  to  me  : 

"  '  Your  thief  sent  his  dying  message  .to  you, 
saying,  "  Tell  her  I  am  innocent,  and  that  all  the 
days  and  all  the  hours  and  all  the  minutes  while  I 
starve  and  perish  I  shall  love  her  and  think  of  her 
and  bless  the  day  that  gave  me  sight  of  her  sweet 
face."  Quite  pretty,  even  poetical !' 

"  I  said,  '  He  is  dirt — let  me  never  hear  mention 
of  him  again.'  And  oh,  to  think — he  was  innocent 
all  the  time ! 

"  Nine  months — nine  dull,  sad  months — went  by, 
and  at  last  came  the  day  of  the  Great  Annual  Sac 
rifice,  when  all  the  maidens  of  the  tribe  wash  their 
faces  and  comb  their  hair.  With  the  first  sweep  of 
my  comb,  out  came  the  fatal  fish-hook  from  where 
it  had  been  all  those  months  nestling,  and  I  fell 
fainting  into  the  arms  of  my  remorseful  father  ! 
Groaning,  he  said,  '  We  murdered  him,  and  I  shall 


224 

never  smile  again  !'  He  has  kept  his  word.  Listen  : 
from  that  day  to  this  not  a  month  goes  by  that  I 
do  not  comb  my  hair.  But  oh,  where  is  the  good 
of  it  all  now  !" 

So  ended  the  poor  maid's  humble  little  tale— 
whereby  we  learn  that  since  a  hundred  million  dol 
lars  in  New  York  and  twenty-two  fish-hooks  on  the 
border  of  the  Arctic  Circle  represent  the  same 
financial  supremacy,  a  man  in  straitened  circum 
stances  is  a  fool  to  stay  in  New  York  when  he  can 
buy  ten  cents'  worth  of  fish-hooks  and  emigrate. 


HOW  TO  TELL  A  STORY 

THE  HUMOROUS  STORY  AN  AMERICAN  DEVELOPMENT — 
ITS  DIFFERENCE  FROM  COMIC  AND  WITTY  STORIES 

1DO  not  claim  that  I  can  tell  a  story  as  it  ought 
to  be  told.     I  only  claim  to  know  how  a  story 
ought  to  be  told,  for  I  have  been  almost  daily  in 
the  company  of  the  most  expert   story-tellers  for 
many  years. 

There  are  several  kinds  of  stones,  but  only  one 
difficult  kind — the  humorous.  I  will  talk  mainly 
about  that  one.  The  humorous  story  is  Ameri 
can,  the  comic  story  is  English,  the  witty  story  is 
French.  The  humorous  story  depends  for  its  effect 
upon  the  manner  of  the  telling ;  the  comic  story 
and  the  witty  story  upon  the  matter. 

The  humorous  story  may  be  spun  out  to  great 
length,  and  may  wander  around  as  much  as  it 
pleases,  and  arrive  nowhere  in  particular ;  but  the 
comic  and  witty  stories  must  be  brief  and  end  with 
a  point.  The  humorous  story  bubbles  gently  along, 
the  others  burst. 
15 


226 


The  humorous  story  is  strictly  a  work  of  art — 
high  and  delicate  art — and  only  an  artist  can  tell 
it;  but  no  art  is  necessary  in  telling  the  comic  and 
the  witty  story ;  anybody  can  do  it.  The  art  of 
telling  a  humorous  story — understand,  I  mean  by 
word  of  mouth,  not  print — was  created  in  America, 
and  has  remained  at  home. 

The  humorous  story  is  told  gravely ;  the  teller 
does  his  best  to  conceal  the  fact  that  he  even  dim 
ly  suspects  that  there  is  anything  funny  about  it ; 
but  the  teller  of  the  comic  story  tells  you  before 
hand  that  it  is  one  of  the  funniest  things  he  has 
ever  heard,  then  tells  it  with  eager  delight,  and  is 
the  first  person  to  laugh  when  he  gets  through. 
And  sometimes,  if  he  has  had  good  success,  he  is 
so  glad  and  happy  that  he  will  repeat  the  "nub"  of 
it  and  glance  around  from  face  to  face,  collecting 
applause,  and  then  repeat  it  again.  It  is  a  pathetic 
thing  to  see. 

Very  often,  of  course,  the  rambling  and  disjointed 
humorous  story  finishes  with  a  nub,  point,  snapper, 
or  whatever  you  like  to  call  it.  Then  the  listener 
must  be  alert,  for  in  many  cases  the  teller  will  divert 
attention  from  that  nub  by  dropping  it  in  a  care 
fully  casual  and  indifferent  way,  with  the  pretence 
that  he  does  not  know  it  is  a  nub. 

Artemus  Ward  used  that  trick  a  good  deal ;  then, 


227 

when  the  belated  audience  presently  caught  the 
joke,  he  would  look  up  with  innocent  surprise,  as  if 
wondering  what  they  had  found  to  laugh  at.  Dan 
Setchell  used  it  before  him,  Nye  and  Riley  and 
others  use  it  to-day. 

But  the  teller  of  the  comic  story  does  not  slur  the 
nub  ;  he  shouts  it  at  you — every  time.  And  when 
he  prints  it,  in  England,  France,  Germany,  and 
Italy,  he  italicizes  it,  puts  some  whooping  exclama 
tion-points  after  it,  and  sometimes  explains  it  in  a 
parenthesis.  All  of  which  is  very  depressing,  and 
makes  one  want  to  renounce  joking  and  lead  a 
better  life. 

Let  me  set  down  an  instance  of  the  comic 
method,  using  an  anecdote  which  has  been  popu 
lar  all  over  the  world  for  twelve  or  fifteen  hundred 
years.  The  teller  tells  it  in  this  way: 

THE   WOUNDED   SOLDIER 

In  the  course  of  a  certain  battle  a  soldier  whose 
leg  had  been  shot  off  appealed  to  another  soldier 
who  was  hurrying  by  to  carry  him  to  the  rear,  in 
forming  him  at  the  same  time  of  the  loss  which  he 
had  sustained;  whereupon  the  generous  son  of 
Mars,  shouldering  the  unfortunate,  proceeded  to 
carry  out  his  desire.  The  bullets  and  cannon-balls 
were  flying  in  all  directions,  and  presently  one  of 


228 


the  latter  took  the  wounded  man's  head  off— with 
out,  however,  his  deliverer  being  aware  of  it.     In 
no  long  time  he  was  hailed  by  an  officer,  who  said  : 
"  Where  are  you  going  with  that  carcass?" 
"  To  the  rear,  sir — he's  lost  his  leg  !" 
"His  leg,  forsooth?"  responded  the  astonished 
officer ;  "  you  mean  his  head,  you  booby." 

Whereupon  the  soldier  dispossessed  himself  of 
his  burden,  and  stood  looking  down  upon  it  in 
great  perplexity.  At  length  he  said : 

"  It  is  true,  sir,  just  as  you  have  said."  Then 
after  a  pause  he  added,  "  But  he  TOLD  me  IT  WAS 
HIS  LEG!  !  !  !  !" 


Here  the  narrator  bursts  into  explosion  after  ex 
plosion  of  thunderous  horse-laughter,  repeating  that 
nub  from  time  to  time  through  his  gaspings  and 
shriekings  and  suffocatings. 

It  takes  only  a  minute  and  a  half  to  tell  that  in 
its  comic-story  form  ;  and  isn't  worth  the  telling. 
after  all.  Put  into  the  humorous-story  form  it 
takes  ten  minutes,  and  is  about  the  funniest  thing 
I  have  ever  listened  to — as  James  Whitcomb  Riley 
tells  it. 

He  tells  it  in  the  character  of  a  dull-witted  old 
farmer  who  has  just  heard  it  for  the  first  time, 
thinks  it  is  unspeakably  funny,  and  is  trying  to  re- 


229 


peat  it  to  a  neighbor.  But  he  can't  remember  it ; 
so  he  gets  all  mixed  up  and  wanders  hopelessly 
round  and  round,  putting  in  tedious  details  that 
don't  belong  in  the  tale  and  only  retard  it ;  taking 
them  out  conscientiously  and  putting  in  others 
that  are  just  as  useless ;  making  minor  mistakes 
now  and  then  and  stopping  to  correct  them  and 
explain  how  he  came  to  make  them  ;  remembering 
things  which  he  forgot  to  put  in  in  their  proper 
place  and  going  back  to  put  them  in  there ;  stop 
ping  his  narrative  a  good  while  in  order  to  try  to 
recall  the  name  of  the  soldier  that  was  hurt,  and 
finally  remembering  that  the  soldier's  name  was  not 
mentioned,  and  remarking  placidly  that  the  name 
is  of  no  real  importance,  anyway — better,  of  course, 
if  one  knew  it,  but  not  essential,  after  all — and  so 
on,  and  so  on,  and  so  on. 

The  teller  is  innocent  and  happy  and  pleased 
with  himself,  and  has  to  stop  every  little  while  to 
hold  himself  in  and  keep  from  laughing  outright ; 
and  does  hold  in,  but  his  body  quakes  in  a  jelly- 
like  way  with  interior  chuckles ;  and  at  the  end  of 
the  ten  minutes  the  audience  have  laughed  until 
they  are  exhausted,  and  the  tears  are  running  down 
their  faces. 

The  simplicity  and  innocence  and  sincerity  and 
unconsciousness  of  the  old  farmer  are  perfectly 


simulated,  and  the  result  is  a  performance  which  is 
thoroughly  charming  and  delicious.  This  is  art — 
and  fine  and  beautiful,  and  only  a  master  can 
compass  it ;  but  a  machine  could  tell  the  other 
story. 

To  string  incongruities  and  absurdities  together 
in  a  wandering  and  sometimes  purposeless  way, 
and  seem  innocently  unaware  that  they  are  absurd 
ities,  is  the  basis  of  the  American  art,  if  my  posi 
tion  is  correct.  Another  feature  is  the  slurring  of 
the  point.  A  third  is  the  dropping  of  a  studied 
remark  apparently  without  knowing  it,  as  if  one 
were  thinking  aloud.  The  fourth  and  last  is  the 
pause. 

Artemus  Ward  dealt  in  numbers  three  and  four 
a  good  deal.  He  would  begin  to  tell  with  great 
animation  something  which  he  seemed  to  think 
was  wonderful ;  then  lose  confidence,  and  after  an 
apparently  absent-minded  pause  add  an  incongru 
ous  remark  in  a  soliloquizing  way ;  and  that  was 
the  remark  intended  to  explode  the  mine — and  it 
did. 

For  instance,  he  would  say  eagerly,  excitedly, 
"  I  once  knew  a  man  in  New  Zealand  who  hadn't 
a  tooth  in  his  head  " — here  his  animation  would 
die  out ;  a  silent,  reflective  pause  would  follow, 
then  he  would  say  dreamily,  and  as  if  to  himself. 


231 

"  and  yet  that  man  could  beat  a  drum  better  than 
any  man  I  ever  saw." 

The  pause  is  an  exceedingly  important  feature  in 
any  kind  of  story,  and  a  frequently  recurring  feat 
ure,  too.  It  is  a  dainty  thing,  and  delicate,  and 
also  uncertain  and  treacherous ;  for  it  must  be  ex 
actly  the  right  length — no  more  and  no  less — or  it 
fails  of  its  purpose  and  makes  trouble.  If  the 
pause  is  too  short  the  impressive  point  is  passed, 
and  the  audience  have  had  time  to  divine  that  a 
surprise  is  intended — and  then  you  can't  surprise 
them,  of  course. 

On  the  platform  I  used  to  tell  a  negro  ghost 
story  that  had  a  pause  in  front  of  the  snapper  on 
the  end,  and  that  pause  was  the  most  important 
thing  in  the  whole  story.  If  I  got  it  the  right 
length  precisely,  I  could  spring  the  finishing  ejacu 
lation  with  effect  enough  to  make  some  impress 
ible  girl  deliver  a  startled  little  yelp  and  jump  out 
of  her  seat — and  that  was  what  I  was  after.  This 
story  was  called  "  The  Golden  Arm,"  and  was  told 
in  this  fashion.  You  can  practise  with  it  yourself 
— and  mind  you  look  out  for  the  pause  and  get  it 
right. 

THE    GOLDEN    ARM 

Once  'pon  a  time  dey  wuz  a  monsus  mean  man, 
en  he  live  'way  out  in  de  prairie  all  'lone  by  his- 


232 


self,  'cep'n  he  had  a  wife.  En  bimeby  she  died, 
en  he  tuk  en  toted  her  way  out  dah  in  de  prairie 
en  buried  her.  Well,  she  had  a  golden  arm — all 
solid  gold,  fum  de  shoulder  down.  He  wuz  pow'ful 
mean — pow'ful  ;  en  dat  night  he  couldn't  sleep, 
caze  he  want  dat  golden  arm  so  bad. 

When  it  come  midnight  he  couldn't  stan'  it  no 
mo' ;  so  he  git  up,  he  did,  en  tuck  his  lantern  en 
shoved  out  thoo  de  storm  en  dug  her  up  en  got  de 
golden  arm  ;  en  he  bent  his  head  down  'gin  de 
win',  en  plowed  en  plowed  en  plowed  thoo  de 
snow.  Den  all  on  a  sudden  he  stop  (make  a  con 
siderable  pause  here,  and  look  startled,  and  take 
a  listening  attitude)  en  say :  "  My  lan\  what's 
dat !" 

En  he  listen — en  listen — en  de  win*  say  (set  your 
teeth  together  and  imitate  the  wailing  and  wheez 
ing  singsong  of  the  wind),  "  Bzzz-z-zzz  " — en  den, 
way  back  yonder  whah  de  grave  is,  he  hear  a  voice  ! 
— he  hear  a  voice  all  mix'  up  in  de  win' — can't 
hardly  tell  'em  'part — "  Bzzz-zzz — W-h-o — g-o-t— 
m-y — g-o-l-d-e-n  arm  f — zzz — zzz — W-h-o  g-o-t  m-y 
g-o-l-d-e-n  arm  f"  (You  must  begin  to  shiver  vio 
lently  now.) 

En  he  begin  to  shiver  en  shake,  en  say,  "  Oh, 
my !  Oh,  my  Ian' !"  en  de  win'  blow  de  lantern  out, 
en  de  snow  en  sleet  blow  in  his  face  en  mos'  choke 


233 

him,  en  he  start  a-plowin'  knee-deep  toward  home 
mos'  dead,  he  so  sk'yerd — en  pooty  soon  he  hear 
de  voice  agin,  en  (pause)  it  'us  comin'  after  him! 
"'Bzzz  —  zzz — zzz  — W-h-o — g-o-t — m-y— g-o-l-d-e-n 
— arm  f 

When  he  git  to  de  pasture  he  hear  it  agin — closter 
now,  en  &-comin  ! — a-comin'  back  dah  in  de  dark  en 
de  storm — (repeat  the  wind  and  the  voice).  When 
he  git  to  de  house  he  rush  up-stairs  en  jump  in  de 
bed  en  kiver  up,  head  and  years,  en  lay  dah  shiverin' 
en  shakin' — en  den  way  out  dah  he  hear  it  agin! 
—en  a-eommf  En  bimeby  he  hear  (pause — awed, 
listening  attitude) — pat — pat — pat — hit's  a-comin 
up-stairs!  Den  he  hear  de  latch,  en  he  know  it's  in 
de  room ! 

Den  pooty  soon  he  know  it's  &-stannin  by  de  bed! 
(Pause.)  Den — he  know  it's  ^.-bendin  down  over 
him — en  he  cain't  skasely  git  his  breath  !  Den — 
den — he  seem  to  feel  someth'n  c-o-l-d,  right  down 
'most  agin  his  head !  (Pause.) 

Den  de  voice  say,  right  at  his  year,  "  W-h-o — g-o-t 
— m-y — g-o-l-d-e-n  arm?"  (You  must  wail  it  out 
very  plaintively  and  accusingly ;  then  you  stare 
steadily  and  impressively  into  the  face  of  the  farthest- 
gone  auditor — a  girl,  preferably — and  let  that  awe- 
inspiring  pause  begin  to  build  itself  in  the  deep 
hush.  When  it  has  reached  exactly  the  right  length, 


234 

jump    suddenly    at    that    girl    and    yell,    "  Youve 
got  it!" 

If  you've  got  the  pause  right,  she'll  fetch  a  dear 
little  yelp  and  spring  right  out  of  her  shoes.  But 
you  must  get  the  pause  right ;  and  you  will  find  it 
the  most  troublesome  and  aggravating  and  uncertain 
thing  you  ever  undertook.) 


ABOUT  PLAY-ACTING 


i 

1HAVE  a  project  to  suggest.  But  first  I  will 
write  a  chapter  of  introduction. 
I  have  just  been  witnessing  a  remarkable  play, 
here  at  the  Burg  Theatre  in  Vienna.  I  do  not 
know  of  any  play  that  much  resembles  it.  In  fact, 
it  is  such  a  departure  from  the  common  laws  of  the 
drama  that  the  name  "play"  doesn't  seem  to  fit 
it  quite  snugly.  However,  whatever  else  it  may 
be,  it  is  in  any  case  a  great  and  stately  metaphys 
ical  poem,  and  deeply  fascinating.  "  Deeply  fasci 
nating"  is  the  right  term:  for  the  audience  sat 
four  hours  and  five  minutes  without  thrice  break 
ing  into  applause,  except  at  the  close  of  each  act ; 
sat  rapt  and  silent — fascinated.  This  piece  is  "The 
Master  of  Palmyra."  It  is  twenty  years  old  ;  yet 
I  doubt  if  you  have  ever  heard  of  it.  It  is  by  Wil- 
brandt,  and  is  his  masterpiece  and  the  work  which 
is  to  make  his  name  permanent  in  German  litera- 


ture.  It  has  never  been  played  anywhere  except 
in  Berlin  and  in  the  great  Burg  Theatre  in  Vienna. 
Yet  whenever  it  is  put  on  the  stage  it  packs  the 
house,  and  the  free  list  is  suspended.  I  know  peo 
ple  who  have  seen  it  ten  times ;  they  know  the 
most  of  it  by  heart ;  they  do  not  tire  of  it ;  and 
they  say  they  shall  still  be  quite  willing  to  go  and 
sit  under  its  spell  whenever  they  get  the  oppor 
tunity. 

There  is  a  dash  of  metempsychosis  in  it — and  it 
is  the  strength  of  the  piece.  The  play  gave  me  the 
sense  of  the  passage  of  a  dimly  connected  proces 
sion  of  dream-pictures.  The  scene  of  it  is  Palmyra 
in  Roman  times.  It  covers  a  wide  stretch  of  time 
—I  don't  know  how  many  years — and  in  the  course 
of  it  the  chief  actress  is  reincarnated  several  times: 
four  times  she  is  a  more  or  less  young  woman,  and 
once  she  is  a  lad.  In  the  first  act  she  is  Zoe — a 
Christian  girl  who  has  wandered  across  the  desert 
from  Damascus  to  try  to  Christianize  the  Zeus- 
worshipping  pagans  of  Palmyra.  In  this  character 
she  is  wholly  spiritual,  a  religious  enthusiast,  a  de 
votee  who  covets  martyrdom — and  gets  it. 

After  many  years  she  appears  in  the  second  act 
as  Phcebe,  a  graceful  and  beautiful  young  light-o'- 
love  from  Rome,  whose  soul  is  all  for  the  shows 
and  luxuries  and  delights  of  this  life — a  dainty  and 


337 

capricious  featherhead,  a  creature  of  shower  and 
sunshine,  a  spoiled  child,  but  a  charming  one.  In 
the  third  act,  after  an  interval  of  many  years,  she  re 
appears  as  Persida,  mother  of  a  daughter  in  the  fresh 
bloom  of  youth.  She  is  now  a  sort  of  combination 
of  her  two  earlier  selves:  in  religious  loyalty  and 
subjection  she  is  Zoe ;  in  triviality  of  character  and 
shallowness  of  judgment — together  with  a  touch  of 
vanity  in  dress — she  is  Phoebe. 

After  a  lapse  of  years  she  appears  in  the  fourth 
act  as  Nymphas,  a  beautiful  boy,  in  whose  character 
the  previous  incarnations  are  engagingly  mixed. 

And  after  another  stretch  of  years  all  these  he 
redities  are  joined  in  the  Zenobia  of  the  fifth  act — 
a  person  of  gravity,  dignity,  sweetness,  with  a  heart 
filled  with  compassion  for  all  who  suffer,  and  a  hand 
prompt  to  put  into  practical  form  the  heart's  be 
nignant  impulses. 

You  will  easily  concede  that  the  actress  who  pro 
poses  to  discriminate  nicely  these  five  characters, 
and  play  them  to  the  satisfaction  of  a  cultivated 
and  exacting  audience,  has  her  work  cut  out  for  her. 
Mme.  Hohenfels  has  made  these  parts  her  peculiar 
property ;  and  she  is  well  able  to  meet  all  the  re 
quirements.  You  perceive,  now,  where  the  chief 
part  of  the  absorbing  fascination  of  this  piece  lies  ; 
it  is  in  watching  this  extraordinary  artist  melt  these 


five  characters  into  each  other  —  grow,  shade  by 
shade,  out  of  one  and  into  another  through  a 
stretch  of  four  hours  and  five  minutes. 

There  are  a  number  of  curious  and  interesting 
features  in  this  piece.  For  instance,  its  hero,  Ap- 
pclles,  young,  handsome,  vigorous,  in  the  first  act, 
remains  so  all  through  the  long  flight  of  years  cov 
ered  by  the  five  acts.  Other  men,  young  in  the 
first  act,  are  touched  with  gray  in  the  second,  are 
old  and  racked  with  infirmities  in  the  third ;  in  the 
fourth,  all  but  one  are  gone  to  their  long  home, 
and  he  is  a  blind  and  helpless  hulk  of  ninety  or  a 
hundred  years.  It  indicates  that  the  stretch  of  time 
covered  by  the  piece  is  seventy  years  or  more.  The 
scenery  undergoes  decay,  too — the  decay  of  age,  as 
sisted  and  perfected  by  a  conflagration.  The  fine 
new  temples  and  palaces  of  the  second  act  are  by- 
and-by  a  wreck  of  crumbled  walls  and  prostrate  col 
umns,  mouldy,  grass-grown,  and  desolate;  but  their 
former  selves  are  still  recognizable  in  their  ruins. 
The  aging  men  and  the  aging  scenery  together  con 
vey  a  profound  illusion  of  that  long  lapse  of  time : 
they  make  you  live  it  yourself !  You  leave  the 
theatre  with  the  weight  of  a  century  upon  you. 

Another  strong  effect :  Death,  in  person,  walks 
about  the  stage  in  every  act.  So  far  as  I  could 
make  out,  he  was  supposedly  not  visible  to  any  ex- 


239 

cepting  two  persons — the  one  he  came  for  and  Ap- 
pelles.  He  used  various  costumes :  but  there  was 
always  more  black  about  them  than  any  other  tint ; 
and  so  they  were  always  sombre.  Also  they  were 
always  deeply  impressive  and,  indeed,  awe-inspir 
ing.  The  face  was  not  subjected  to  changes,  but 
remained  the  same,  first  and  last — a  ghastly  white. 
To  me  he  was  always  welcome,  he  seemed  so  real 
—the  actual  Death,  not  a  play-acting  artificiality.  \ 
He  was  of  a  solemn  and  stately  carriage ;  and  he 
had  a  deep  voice,  and  used  it  with  a  noble  dignity. 
Wherever  there  was  a  turmoil  of  merry-making  or 
fighting  or  feasting  or  chaffing  or  quarrelling,  or  a 
gilded  pageant,  or  other  manifestation  of  our  trivial 
and  fleeting  life,  into  it  drifted  that  black  figure 
with  the  corpse -face,  and  looked  its  fateful  look 
and  passed  on ;  leaving  its  victim  shuddering  and 
smitten.  And  always  its  coming  made  the  fussy 
human  pack  seem  infinitely  pitiful  and  shabby  and 
hardly  worth  the  attention  of  either  saving  or 
damning. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  first  act  the  young  girl 
Zoe  appears  by  some  great  rocks  in  the  desert,  and 
sits  down,  exhausted,  to  rest.  Presently  arrive  a 
pauper  couple,  stricken  with  age  and  infirmities; 
and  they  begin  to  mumble  and  pray  to  the  Spirit 
of  Life,  who  is  said  to  inhabit  that  spot.  The 


240 

Spirit  of  Life  appears;  also  Death  —  uninvited. 
They  are  (supposably)  invisible.  Death,  tall,  black- 
robed,  corpse-faced,  stands  motionless  and  waits. 
The  aged  couple  pray  to  the  Spirit  of  Life  for  a 
means  to  prop  up  their  existence  and  continue  it. 
Their  prayer  fails.  The  Spirit  of  Life  prophesies 
Zoes  martyrdom :  it  will  take  place  before  night. 
Soon  Appelles  arrives,  young  and  vigorous  and  full 
of  enthusiasm  ;  he  has  led  a  host  against  the  Per 
sians  and  won  the  battle ;  he  is  the  pet  of  fortune, 
rich,  honored,  beloved,  "  Master  of  Palmyra."  He 
has  heard  that  whoever  stretches  himself  out  on 
one  of  those  rocks  there,  and  asks  for  a  deathless 
life,  can  have  his  wish.  He  laughs  at  the  tradition, 
but  wants  to  make  the  trial  anyway.  The  invisible 
Spirit  of  Life  warns  him  :  "  Life  without  end  can 
be  regret  without  end."  But  he  persists:  let  him 
keep  his  youth,  his  strength,  and  his  mental  facul 
ties  unimpaired,  and  he  will  take  all  the  risks.  He 
has  his  desire. 

From  this  time  forth,  act  after  act,  the  troubles 
and  sorrows  and  misfortunes  and  humiliations  of 
life  beat  upon  him  without  pity  or  respite  ;  but  he 
will  not  give  up,  he  will  not  confess  his  mistake. 
Whenever  he  meets  Death  he  still  furiously  defies 
him — but  Death  patiently  waits.  He,  the  healer 
of  sorrows,  is  man's  best  friend  :  the  recognition  of 


241 

this  will  come.  As  the  years  drag  on,  and  on,  and 
on,  the  friends  of  the  Master  s  youth  grow  old  ;  and 
one  by  one  they  totter  to  the  grave :  he  goes  on 
with  his  proud  fight,  and  will  not  yield.  At  length 
he  is  wholly  alone  in  the  world ;  all  his  friends  are 
dead ;  last  of  all,  his  darling  of  darlings,  his  son, 
the  lad  Nymphas,  who  dies  in  his  arms.  His  pride 
is  broken  now ;  and  he  would  welcome  Death,  if 
Death  would  come,  if  Death  would  hear  his  prayers 
and  give  him  peace.  The  closing  act  is  fine  and 
pathetic.  Appelles  meets  Zenobia,  the  helper  of  all 
who  suffer,  and  tells  her  his  story,  which  moves 
her  pity.  By  common  report  she  is  endowed  with 
more  than  earthly  powers;  and,  since  he  cannot 
have  the  boon  of  death,  he  appeals  to  her  to 
drown  his  memory  in  forgetfulness  of  his  griefs 
-  forgetfulness,  "  which  is  death's  equivalent." 
She  says  (roughly  translated),  in  an  exaltation  of 
compassion : 

"Come  to  me! 

Kneel ;  and  may  the  power  be  granted  me 
To  cool  the  fires  of  this  poor,  tortured  brain, 
And  bring  it  peace  and  healing." 

He  kneels.     From  her  hand,  which  she  lays  upon 
his   head,  a   mysterious    influence    steals    through 
him  ;  and  he  sinks  into  a  dreamy  tranquillity. 
16 


242 


"  Oh,  if  I  could  but  so  drift 

Through  this  soft  twilight  into  the  night  of  peace, 
Never  to  wake  again  ! 
{Raising  his  hand,  as  if  in  benediction^) 
O  mother  earth,  farewell ! 
Gracious  thou  wert  to  me.     Farewell ! 
Appelles  goes  to  rest." 

Death  appears  behind  him  and  encloses  the  up 
lifted  hand  in  his.  Appelles  shudders,  wearily  and 
slowly  turns,  and  recognizes  his  life-long  adver 
sary.  He  smiles  and  puts  all  his  gratitude  into 
one  simple  and  touching  sentence,  "  Ich  danke 
dir,"  and  dies. 

Nothing,  I  think,  could  be  more  moving,  more 
beautiful,  than  this  close.  This  piece  is  just  one 
long,  soulful,  sardonic  laugh  at  human  life.  Its 
title  might  properly  be  "  Is  Life  a  Failure?"  and 
leave  the  five  acts  to  play  with  the  answer.  I  am 
not  at  all  sure  that  the  author  meant  to  laugh  at 
life.  I  only  notice  that  he  has  done  it.  Without 
putting  into  words  any  ungracious  or  discourteous 
things  about  life,  the  episodes  in  the  piece  seem  to 
be  saying  all  the  time,  inarticulately  :  "  Note  what 
a  silly,  poor  thing  human  life  is ;  how  childish  its 
ambitions,  how  ridiculous  its  pomps,  how  trivial  its 
dignities,  how  cheap  its  heroisms,  how  capricious 
its  course,  how  brief  its  flight,  how  stingy  in  hap 
piness,  how  opulent  in  miseries,  how  few  its  prides, 


243 

how  multitudinous  its  humiliations,  how  comic  its 
tragedies,  how  tragic  its  comedies,  how  wearisome 
and  monotonous  its  repetition  of  its  stupid  history 
through  the  ages,  with  never  the  introduction  of  a 
new  detail,  how  hard  it  has  tried,  from  the  Creation 
down,  to  play  itself  upon  its  possessor  as  a  boon, 
and  has  never  proved  its  case  in  a  single  in 
stance  !" 

Take  note  of  some  of  the  details  of  the  piece. 
Each  of  the  five  acts  contains  an  independent  trag 
edy  of  its  own.  In  each  act  somebody's  edifice  of 
hope,  or  of  ambition,  or  of  happiness,  goes  down  in 
ruins.  Even  Appelles  perennial  youth  is  only  a 
long  tragedy,  and  his  life  a  failure.  There  are  two 
martyrdoms  in  the  piece  ;  and  they  are  curiously 
and  sarcastically  contrasted.  In  the  first  act  the 
pagans  persecute  Zoe,  the  Christian  girl,  and  a  pagan 
mob  slaughters  her.  In  the  fourth  act  those  same 
pagans — now  very  old  and  zealous — are  become 
Christians,  and  they  persecute  the  pagans :  a  mob 
of  them  slaughters  the  pagan  youth,  Nymphas,  who 
is  standing  up  for  the  old  gods  of  his  fathers.  No 
remark  is  made  about  this  picturesque  failure  of 
civilization  ;  but  there  it  stands,  as  an  unworded 
suggestion  that  civilization,  even  when  Christian 
ized,  was  not  able  wholly  to  subdue  the  natural  man 
in  that  old  day — just  as  in  our  day  the  spectacle  of 


244 

a  shipwrecked  French  crew  clubbing  women  and 
children  who  tried  to  climb  into  the  lifeboats  sug 
gests  that  civilization  has  not  succeeded  in  entirely 
obliterating  the  natural  man  even  yet.  Common 
sailors !  A  year  ago,  in  Paris,  at  a  fire,  the  aristoc 
racy  of  the  same  nation  clubbed  girls  and  women 
out  of  the  way  to  save  themselves.  Civilization 
tested  at  top  and  bottom  both,  you  see.  And  in 
still  another  panic  of  fright  we  have  this  same 
"  tough  "  civilization  saving  its  honor  by  condemn 
ing  an  innocent  man  to  multiform  death,  and  hug 
ging  and  whitewashing  the  guilty  one. 

In  the  second  act  a  grand  Roman  official  is  not 
above  trying  to  blast  Appelles'  reputation  by  falsely 
charging  him  with  misappropriating  public  moneys. 
Appelles,  who  is  too  proud  to  endure  even  the  sus 
picion  of  irregularity,  strips  himself  to  naked  pov 
erty  to  square  the  unfair  account ;  and  his  troubles 
begin  :  the  blight  which  is  to  continue  and  spread 
strikes  his  life ;  for  the  frivolous,  pretty  creature 
whom  he  has  brought  from  Rome  has  no  taste  for 
poverty,  and  agrees  to  elope  with  a  more  competent 
candidate.  Her  presence  in  the  house  has  pre 
viously  brought  down  the  pride  and  broken  the 
heart  of  Appelles'  poor  old  mother ;  and  her  life  is 
a  failure.  Death  comes  for  her,  but  is  willing  to 
trade  her  for  the  Roman  girl ;  so  the  bargain  is 


245 

struck  with  Appelles,  and  the  mother  is  spared  for 
the  present. 

No  one's  life  escapes  the  blight.  Timoleus,  the 
gay  satirist  of  the  first  two  acts,  who  scoffed  at  the 
pious  hypocrisies  and  money-grubbing  ways  of  the 
great  Roman  lords,  is  grown  old  and  fat  and  blear- 
eyed  and  racked  with  disease  in  the  third,  has  lost 
his  stately  purities,  and  watered  the  acid  of  his  wit. 
His  life  has  suffered  defeat.  Unthinkingly  he  swears 
by  Zeus — from  ancient  habit — and  then  quakes  with 
fright;  for  a  fellow -communicant  is  passing  by. 
Reproached  by  a  pagan  friend  of  his  youth  for  his 
apostasy,  he  confesses  that  principle,  when  unsup 
ported  by  an  assenting  stomach,  has  to  climb  down. 
One  must  have  bread ;  and  "  the  bread  is  Chris 
tian  now."  Then  the  poor  old  wreck,  once  so 
proud  of  his  iron  rectitude,  hobbles  away,  cough 
ing  and  barking. 

In  that  same  act  Appelles  gives  his  sweet  young 
Christian  daughter  and  her  fine  young  pagan  lover 
his  consent  and  blessing,  and  makes  them  utterly 
happy — for  five  minutes.  Then  the  priest  and  the 
mob  come,  to  tear  them  apart  and  put  the  girl  in  a 
nunnery ;  for  marriage  between  the  sects  is  forbid 
den.  Appelles  wife  could  dissolve  the  rule  ;  and 
she  wants  to  do  it ;  but  under  priestly  pressure 
she  wavers ;  then,  fearing  that  in  providing  happi- 


246 


ness  for  her  child  she  would  be  committing  a  sin 
dangerous  to  herself,  she  goes  over  to  the  opposi 
tion,  and  throws  the  casting  vote  for  the  nunnery. 
The  blight  has  fallen  upon  the  young  couple,  and 
their  life  is  a  failure. 

In  the  fourth  act,  Longinus,  who  made  such  a 
prosperous  and  enviable  start  in  the  first  act,  is  left 
alone  in  the  desert,  sick,  blind,  helpless,  incredibly 
old,  to  die :  not  a  friend  left  in  the  world — another 
ruined  life.  And  in  that  act,  also,  Appelles  wor 
shipped  boy,  NymphaSy  done  to  death  by  the  mob, 
breathes  out  his  last  sigh  in  his  father's  arms — one 
more  failure.  In  the  fifth  act,  Appelles  himself  dies, 
and  is  glad  to  do  it ;  he  who  so  ignorantly  rejoiced, 
only  four  acts  before,  over  the  splendid  present  of 
an  earthly  immortality  —  the  very  worst  failure  of 
the  lot ! 


247 


II 

Now  I  approach  my  project.  Here  is  the  thea 
tre-list  for  Saturday,  May  7,  1898 — cut  from  the 
advertising  columns  of  a  New  York  paper: 


PROCTOR'S        CONTINUOUS 

111VU1V11.VJ                   .    PERFORMANCE. 
23D  ST.  ..             REFINED  VAUDEVILLE, 
r  v  VaudeTllIe  debut  of 
CHARLES  A.  GARDNER  &  CO.; 

Arthur  and  Jennie  Imnn.  Paulinetti  and  Piqno,  Hugh- 
ey  Dougherty,  Nichols  Sisters,  George  Evans,  others. 
SENSATIONAL  EDISON  WAR-GRAPH. 
BALCONIES,  25c.                         ORCHESTRA,  50c. 

BAITLES'H  NATION. 

Mats.  Wed.  &  Sat.,  2.    Eve.  8:15. 

f%   SAM  T.  JACK'S  THEATRE, 

ry                BROADWAY  &  29TH  ST. 

-*tjkv  2  BIG  SHOWS  EVERY  DAY,  2  and  8. 
*V££iP    Jennie  Yeamans  &  French'  Importations. 

DAQTflR'Q                 CONTINUOUS 

rHOIUnO                  PERFORMANCES. 
12:3O  to  11  P.M.     Seats  20  and  3O  Cent*. 

EDISON'S  WONDERFUL  WAR-SCOPE. 

CANFIELD  &  CARLETON,  ELLINORE  SISTERS, 

JOHNNY  CARROLL,  CURTIS  &  GORDON. 

WEBER  &  FIELDS'   gSEL°   MAT,  TO-DAY, 
POUSSE  CAFE  THi  CON-CURERS. 

MISS  BESSIE  CLAYTON,  the  Queen  of  Dancers. 

•j  A  TH  ST.  THEATRE,  nr.  6th  av.  Good  seats,  50c. 
•*•*     THOS.  E.  SHEA  in  the  great  naval  play, 
THE  MAN-0'-  WAR'S  MAN. 

SILVER  SOUVENIRS  at  Wed.  &  Sat.  Matinees. 

R  1  1  fl  II              Matinee  To-day  at  2. 
D  1  J  U  U              To-night  at  8:15. 
Last  Two  Performances  of 

MY  FRIEND  FROM  INDIA. 

NEXT  WEEK-THE  TARRYTOWN  WIDOW. 

ELECTRICAL  SHOW. 

2  to  11  P.  M.    Admission,  50c.    Children,  85c. 
MADISON  SQUARE  GARDEN. 

1  lirn  IO  III    8th  aTe-  and  42d  at.     Tel.  3147-38. 

Amrn  liAll   EVE.  a  as.   MAT.  WED.  &  SAT.  2 

•urn  tmuHii   Cast]e  8quare  Opera  Company/ 
MONTH  1  8Pr^nstu  THE  BEGGAR  STUDENT. 

ENTIRE  HOUSE,  25.  50.  75.     Mat.  To  day,  25  &  50. 
NEXT  WEEK—  FAUST  (IN  ENGLISH). 

HURTIO&UADI   PIIM^810   Orch.  and  Bal. 
SEAMON'S  nMnl-Cin  HALL.  Rea.2oc.and50c. 
Rogers  Bros.,  Maude  Raymond,  Joe  Welch, 
Raymond  &  Kurkamp.  Gardner  &  Gilmore;  others. 

1  VmiM         4th  Ave.  &  2Sd  St.    Begins  8:30. 
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248 


Now  I  arrive  at  my  project,  and  make  my  sug 
gestion.  From  the  look  of  this  lightsome  feast,  I 
conclude  that  what  you  need  is  a  tonic.  Send  for 
"  The  Master  of  Palmyra."  You  are  trying  to 
make  yourself  believe  that  life  is  a  comedy,  that 
its  sole  business  is  fun,  that  there  is  nothing  serious 
in  it.  You  are  ignoring  the  skeleton  in  your  closet. 
Send  for  "  The  Master  of  Palmyra."  You  are 
neglecting  a  valuable  side  of  your  life ;  presently 
it  will  be  atrophied.  You  are  eating  too  much 
mental  sugar ;  you  will  bring  on  Bright's  disease  of 
the  intellect.  You  need  a  tonic ;  you  need  it  very 
much.  Send  for  "The  Master  of  Palmyra."  You 
will  not  need  to  translate  it :  its  story  is  as  plain 
as  a  procession  of  pictures. 

I  have  made  my  suggestion.  Now  I  wish  to  put 
an  annex  to  it.  And  that  is  this:  It  is  right  and 
wholesome  to  have  those  light  comedies  and  enter 
taining  shows ;  and  I  shouldn't  wish  to  see  them 
diminished.  But  none  of  us  is  always  in  the 
comedy  spirit ;  we  have  our  graver  moods ;  they 
come  to  us  all ;  the  lightest  of  us  cannot  escape 
them.  These  moods  have  their  appetites — healthy 
and  legitimate  appetites — and  there  ought  to  be 
some  way  of  satisfying  them.  It  seems  to  me  that 
New  York  ought  to  have  one  theatre  devoted  to 
tragedy.  With  her  three  millions  of  population, 


249 

and  seventy  outside  millions  to  draw  upon,  she  can 
afford  it,  she  can  support  it.  America  devotes 
more  time,  labor,  money,  and  attention  to  distrib 
uting  literary  and  musical  culture  among  the  gen 
eral  public  than  does  any  other  nation,  perhaps; 
yet  here  you  find  her  neglecting  what  is  possibly 
the  most  effective  of  all  the  breeders  and  nurses 
and  disseminators  of  high  literary  taste  and  lofty 
emotion — the  tragic  stage.  To  leave  that  power 
ful  agency  out  is  to  haul  the  culture-wagon  with  a 
crippled  team.  Nowadays,  when  a  mood  comes 
which  only  Shakspeare  can  set  to  music,  what  must 
we  do?  Read  Shakspeare  ourselves!  Isn't  it 
pitiful?  It  is  playing  an  organ  solo  on  a  jew's- 
harp.  We  can't  read.  None  but  the  Booths  can 
do  it. 

Thirty  years  ago  Edwin  Booth  played  "  Hamlet " 
a  hundred  nights  in  New  York.  With  three  times 
the  population,  how  often  is  "  Hamlet "  played 
now  in  a  year?  If  Booth  were  back  now  in  his 
prime,  how  often  could  he  play  it  in  New  York? 
Some  will  say  twenty -five  nights.  I  will  say 
three  hundred,  and  say  it  with  confidence.  The 
tragedians  are  dead ;  but  I  think  that  the  taste 
and  intelligence  which  made  their  market  are 
not. 

What  has  come  over  us  English-speaking  people? 


25Q 

During  the  first  half  of  this  century  tragedies  and 
great  tragedians  were  as  common  with  us  as  farce 
and  comedy;  and  it  was  the  same  in  England. 
Now  we  have  not  a  tragedian,  I  believe ;  and  Lon 
don,  with  her  fifty  shows  and  theatres,  has  but 
three,  I  think.  It  is  an  astonishing  thing,  when  you 
come  to  consider  it.  Vienna  remains  upon  the 
ancient  basis :  there  has  been  no  change.  She 
sticks  to  the  former  proportions :  a  number  of 
rollicking  comedies,  admirably  played,  every  night ; 
and  also  every  night  at  the  Burg  Theatre — that 
wonder  of  the  world  for  grace  and  beauty  and  rich 
ness  and  splendor  and  costliness — a  majestic  drama 
of  depth  and  seriousness,  or  a  standard  old  tragedy. 
It  is  only  within  the  last  dozen  years  that  men  have 
learned  to  do  miracles  on  the  stage  in  the  way  of 
grand  and  enchanting  scenic  effects ;  and  it  is  at 
such  a  time  as  this  that  we  have  reduced  our 
scenery  mainly  to  different  breeds  of  parlors  and 
varying  aspects  of  furniture  and  rugs.  I  think  we 
must  have  a  Burg  in  New  York,  and  Burg  scenery, 
and  a  great  company  like  the  Burg  company.  Then, 
with  a  tragedy-tonic  once  or  twice  a  month,  we  shall 
enjoy  the  comedies  all  the  better.  Comedy  keeps 
the  heart  sweet ;  but  we  all  know  that  there  is 
wholesome  refreshment  for  both  mind  and  heart  in 
an  occasional  climb  among  the  pomps  of  the  intel- 


251 


lectual  snow-summits  built  by  Shakspeare  and  those 
others.  Do  I  seem  to  be  preaching?  It  is  out  of 
my  line:  I  only  do  it  because  the  rest  of  the  clergy 
seem  to  be  on  vacation. 


CONCERNING   THE   JEWS 

SOME  months  ago  I  published  a  magazine  ar 
ticle*  descriptive  of  a  remarkable  scene  in  the 
Imperial  Parliament  in  Vienna.  Since  then  I 
have  received  from  Jews  in  America  several  letters 
of  inquiry.  They  were  difficult  letters  to  answer, 
for  they  were  not  very  definite.  But  at  last  I  have 
received  a  definite  one.  It  is  from  a  lawyer,  and 
he  really  asks  the  questions  which  the  other  writers 
probably  believed  they  were  asking.  By  help  of 
this  text  I  will  do  the  best  I  can  to  publicly  answer 
this  correspondent,  and  also  the  others — at  the  same 
time  apologizing  for  having  failed  to  reply  privately. 
The  lawyer's  letter  reads  as  follows : 

"  I  have  read  '  Stirring  Times  in  Austria.'  One  point  in 
particular  is  of  vital  import  to  not  a  few  thousand  people, 
including  myself,  being  a  point  about  which  I  have  often 
wanted  to  address  a  question  to  some  disinterested  person. 
The  show  of  military  force  in  the  Austrian  Parliament, 
which  precipitated  the  riots,  was  not  introduced  by  any  Jew. 

*See  HARPER'S  MAGAZINE  for  March,  1898. 


253 


No  Jew  was  a  member  of  that  body.  No  Jewish  question 
was  involved  in  the  Ausgleich  or  in  the  language  proposi 
tion.  No  Jew  was  insulting  anybody.  In  short,  no  Jew 
was  doing  any  mischief  toward  anybody  whatsoever.  In 
fact,  the  Jews  were  the  only  ones  of  the  nineteen  different 
races  in  Austria  which  did  not  have  a  party — they  are  ab 
solutely  non-participants.  Yet  in  your  article  you  say  that 
in  the  rioting  which  followed,  all  classes  of  people  were 
unanimous  only  on  one  thing,  viz.,  in  being  against  the 
Jews.  Now  will  you  kindly  tell  me  why,  in  your  judgment, 
the  Jews  have  thus  ever  been,  and  are  even  now,  in  these 
days  of  supposed  intelligence,  the  butt  of  baseless,  vicious 
animosities  ?  I  dare  say  that  for  centuries  there  has  been 
no  more  quiet,  undisturbing,  and  well-behaving  citizen,  as 
a  class,  than  that  same  Jew.  It  seems  to  me  that  ignorance 
and  fanaticism  cannot  alone  account  for  these  horrible  and 
unjust  persecutions. 

"  Tell  me,  therefore,  from  your  vantage-point  of  cold  view, 
what  in  your  mind  is  the  cause.  Can  American  Jews  do 
anything  to  correct  it  either  in  America  or  abroad  ?  Will 
it  ever  come  to  an  end  ?  Will  a  Jew  be  permitted  to  live 
honestly,  decently,  and  peaceably  like  the  rest  of  mankind  ? 
What  has  become  of  the  Golden  Rule  ?" 

I  will  begin  by  saying  that  if  I  thought  myself 
prejudiced  against  the  Jew,  I  should  hold  it  fairest 
to  leave  this  subject  to  a  person  not  crippled  in 
that  way.  But  I  think  I  have  no  such  prejudice. 
A  few  years  ago  a  Jew  observed  to  me  that  there 
was  no  uncourteous  reference  to  his  people  in  my 
books,  and  asked  how  it  happened.  It  happened 
because  the  disposition  was  lacking.  I  am  quite 


sure  that  (bar  one)  I  have  no  race  prejudices,  and 
I  think  I  have  no  color  prejudices  nor  caste  preju 
dices  nor  creed  prejudices.  Indeed,  I  know  it.  I 
can  stand  any  society.  All  that  I  care  to  know  is 
that  a  man  is  a  human  being — that  is  enough  for 
me ;  he  can't  be  any  worse.  I  have  no  special  re 
gard  for  Satan  ;  but  I  can  at  least  claim  that  I  have 
no  prejudice  against  him.  It  may  even  be  that  I 
lean  a  little  his  way,  on  account  of  his  not  having 
a  fair  show.  All  religions  issue  bibles  against  him, 
and  say  the  most  injurious  things  about  him,  but 
we  never  hear  his  side.  We  have  none  but  the 
evidence  for  the  prosecution,  and  yet  we  have  ren 
dered  the  verdict.  To  my  mind,  this  is  irregular. 
It  is  un-English  ;  it  is  un-American  ;  it  is  French. 
Without  this  precedent  Dreyfus  could  not  have 
been  condemned.  Of  course  Satan  has  some  kind 
of  a  case,  it  goes  without  saying.  It  may  be  a 
poor  one,  but  that  is  nothing ;  that  can  be  said 
about  any  of  us.  As  soon  as  I  can  get  at  the  facts 
Twill  undertake  his  rehabilitation  myself,  if  I  can 
find  an  unpolitic  publisher.  It  is  a  thing  which  we 
ought  to  be  willing  to  do  for  any  one  who  is  under 
a  cloud.  We  may  not  pay  him  reverence,  for  that 
would  be  indiscreet,  but  we  can  at  least  respect  his 
talents.  A  person  who  has  for  untold  centuries 
maintained  the  imposing  position  of  spiritual  head 


255 

of  four-fifths  of  the  human  race,  and  political  head 
of  the  whole  of  it,  must  be  granted  the  possession 
of  executive  abilities  of  the  loftiest  order.  In  his 
large  presence  the  other  popes  and  politicians 
shrink  to  midges  for  the  microscope.  I  would 
like  to  see  him.  I  would  rather  see  him  and  shake 
him  by  the  tail  than  any  other  member  of  the 
European  Concert.  In  the  present  paper  I  shall 
allow  myself  to  use  the  word  Jew  as  if  it  stood  for 
both  religion  and  race.  It  is  handy  ;  and,  besides, 
that  is  what  the  term  means  to  the  general  world. 
In  the  above  letter  one  notes  these  points : 

1.  The  Jew  is  a  well-behaved  citizen. 

2.  Can  ignorance  and  fanaticism  alone  account 
for  his  unjust  treatment? 

3.  Can  Jews  do  anything  to  improve  the  situa 
tion? 

4.  The  Jews  have  no  party ;  they  are  non-par 
ticipants. 

5.  Will  the  persecution  ever  come  to  an  end? 

6.  What  has  become  of  the  Golden  Rule? 
Point  No.  I. — We  must  grant  proposition  No.  I 

for  several  sufficient  reasons.  The  Jew  is  not  a 
disturber  of  the  peace  of  any  country.  Even  his 
enemies  will  concede  that.  He  is  not  a  loafer,  he 
is  not  a  sot,  he  is  not  noisy,  he  is  not  a  brawler  nor 
a  rioter,  he  is  not  quarrelsome.  In  the  statistics  of 


356 

crime  his  presence  is  conspicuously  rare — in  all 
countries.  With  murder  and  other  crimes  of  vio 
lence  he  has  but  little  to  do :  he  is  a  stranger  to 
the  hangman.  In  the  police  court's  daily  long  roll 
of  "  assaults  "  and  "  drunk  and  disorderlies  "  his 
name  seldom  appears.  That  the  Jewish  home  is  a 
home  in  the  truest  sense  is  a  fact  which  no  one 
will  dispute.  The  family  is  knitted  together  by  the 
strongest  affections ;  its  members  show  each  other 
every  due  respect ;  and  reverence  for  the  elders  is 
an  inviolate  law  of  the  house.  The  Jew  is  not  a 
burden  on  the  charities  of  the  state  nor  of  the  city ; 
these  could  cease  from  their  functions  without  af 
fecting  him.  When  he  is  well  enough,  he  works  ; 
when  he  is  incapacitated,  his  own  people  take  care 
of  him.  And  not  in  a  poor  and  stingy  way,  but 
with  a  fine  and  large  benevolence.  His  race  is  en 
titled  to  be  called  the  most  benevolent  of  all  the 
races  of  men.  A  Jewish  beggar  is  not  impossible, 
perhaps ;  such  a  thing  may  exist,  but  there  are 
few  men  that  can  say  they  have  seen  that  spectacle. 
The  Jew  has  been  staged  in  many  uncompliment 
ary  forms,  but,  so  far  as  I  know,  no  dramatist  has 
done  him  the  injustice  to  stage  him  as  a  beggar. 
Whenever  a  Jew  has  real  need  to  beg,  his  people 
save  him  from  the  necessity  of  doing  it.  The 
charitable  institutions  of  the  Jews  are  supported 


257 

by  Jewish  money,  and  amply.  The  Jews  make  no 
noise  about  it ;  it  is  done  quietly;  they  do  not  nag 
and  pester  and  harass  us  for  contributions ;  they 
give  us  peace,  and  set  us  an  example — an  example 
which  we  have  not  found  ourselves  able  to  follow ; 
for  by  nature  we  are  not  free  givers,  and  have  to 
be  patiently  and  persistently  hunted  down  in  the 
interest  of  the  unfortunate. 

These  facts  are  all  on  the  credit  side  of  the 
proposition  that  the  Jew  is  a  good  and  orderly  cit 
izen.  Summed  up,  they  certify  that  he  is  quiet, 
peaceable,  industrious,  unaddicted  to  high  crimes 
and  brutal  dispositions ;  that  his  family  life  is  com 
mendable  ;  that  he  is  not  a  burden  upon  public 
charities ;  that  he  is  not  a  beggar ;  that  in  benevo 
lence  he  is  above  the  reach  of  competition.  These 
are  the  very  quint -essentials  of  good  citizenship. 
If  you  can  add  that  he  is  as  honest  as  the  average 
of  his  neighbors —  But  I  think  that  question  is 
affirmatively  answered  by  the  fact  that  he  is  a  suc 
cessful  business  man.  The  basis  of  successful  busi 
ness  is  honesty;  a  business  cannot  thrive  where 
the  parties  to  it  cannot  trust  each  other.  In  the 
matter  of  numbers  the  Jew  counts  for  little  in  the 
overwhelming  population  of  New  York ;  but  that 
his  honesty  counts  for  much  is  guaranteed  by  the 
fact  that  the  immense  wholesale  business  houses  of 
17 


258 

Broadway,  from  the  Battery  to  Union   Square,  is 
substantially  in  his  hands. 

I  suppose  that  the  most  picturesque  example  in 
history  of  a  trader's  trust  in  his  fellow-trader  was 
one  where  it  was  not  Christian  trusting  Christian, 
but  Christian  trusting  Jew.  That  Hessian  Duke 
who  used  to  sell  his  subjects  to  George  III.  to  fight 
George  Washington  with  got  rich  at  it ;  and  by- 
and-by,  when  the  wars  engendered  by  the  French 
Revolution  made  his  throne  too  warm  for  him,  he 
was  obliged  to  fly  the  country.  He  was  in  a  hurry, 
and  had  to  leave  his  earnings  behind — $9,000,000. 
He  had  to  risk  the  money  with  some  one  without 
security.  He  did  not  select  a  Christian,  but  a  Jew 
— a  Jew  of  only  modest  means,  but  of  high  charac 
ter;  a  character  so  high  that  it  left  him  lonesome — 
Rothschild  of  Frankfort.  Thirty  years  later,  when 
Europe  had  become  quiet  and  safe  again,  the  Duke 
came  back  from  overseas,  and  the  Jew  returned 
the  loan,  with  interest  added. * 

*  Here  is  another  piece  of  picturesque  history ;  and  it  reminds  us 
that  shabbiness  and  dishonesty  are  not  the  monopoly  of  any  race  or 
creed,  but  are  merely  human  : 

"Congress  has  passed  a  bill  to  pay  $379.56  to  Moses  Fender- 
grass,  of  Libertyville,  Missouri.  The  story  of  the  reason  of  this  lib 
erality  is  pathetically  interesting,  and  shows  the  sort  of  pickle  that 
an  honest  man  may  get  into  who  undertakes  to  do  an  honest  job  of 
work  for  Uncle  Sam.  In  1886  Moses  Pendergrass  put  in  a  bid  for 


259 

The  Jew  has  his  other  side.  He  has  some  dis 
creditable  ways,  though  he  has  not  a  monopoly  of 
them,  because  he  cannot  get  entirely  rid  of  vexa- 

the  contract  to  carry  the  mail  on  the  route  from  Knob  Lick  to  Lib- 
ertyville  and  CofFman,  thirty  miles  a  day,  from  July  I,  1887,  for 
one  year.  He  got  the  postmaster  at  Knob  Lick  to  write  the  letter 
for  him,  and  while  Moses  intended  that  his  bid  should  be  $400,  his 
scribe  carelessly  made  it  $4.  Moses  got  the  contract,  and  did  not 
find  out  about  the  mistake  until  the  end  of  the  first  quarter,  when 
he  got  his  first  pay.  When  he  found  at  what  rate  he  was  working 
he  was  sorely  cast  down,  and  opened  communication  with  the  Post- 
Office  Department.  The  department  informed  him  that  he  must 
either  carry  out  his  contract  or  throw  it  up,  and  that  if  he  threw  it 
up  his  bondsmen  would  have  to  pay  the  government  $1459.85  dam 
ages.  So  Moses  carried  out  his  contract,  walked  thirty  miles  every 
week-day  for  a  year,  and  carried  the  mail,  and  received  for  his  labor 
<j>4 — or>  to  be  accurate,  $6.84  ;  for,  the  route  being  extended  after 
his  bid  was  accepted,  the  pay  was  proportionately  increased.  Now, 
after  ten  years,  a  bill  was  finally  passed  to  pay  to  Moses  the  difference 
between  what  he  earned  in  that  unlucky  year  and  what  he  received." 

The  Sun,  which  tells  the  above  story,  says  that  bills  were  intro 
duced  in  three  or  four  Congresses  for  Moses'  relief,  and  that  com 
mittees  repeatedly  investigated  his  claim. 

It  took  six  Congresses,  containing  in  their  persons  the  compressed 
virtues  of  70,000,000  of  people,  and  cautiously  and  carefully  giving 
expression  to  those  virtues  in  the  fear  of  God  and  the  next  election, 
eleven  years  to  find  out  some  way  to  cheat  a  fellow-Christian  out  of 
about  $13  on  his  honestly  executed  contract,  and  out  of  nearly  $300 
due  him  on  its  enlarged  terms.  And  they  succeeded.  During  the 
same  time  they  paid  out  $1,000,000,000  in  pensions— a  third  of  it 
unearned  and  undeserved.  This  indicates  a  splendid  all-around 
competency  in  theft,  for  it  starts  with  farthings,  and  works  its  in 
dustries  all  the  way  up  to  ship-loads.  It  may  be  possible  that  the 
Jews  can  beat  this,  but  the  man  that  bets  on  it  is  taking  chances. 


2bo 

tious  Christian  competition.  We  have  seen  that  he 
seldom  transgresses  the  laws  against  crimes  of  vio 
lence.  Indeed,  his  dealings  with  courts  are  almost 
restricted  to  matters  connected  with  commerce. 
He  has  a  reputation  for  various  small  forms  of 
cheating,  and  for  practising  oppressive  usury,  and 
for  burning  himself  out  to  get  the  insurance,  and 
for  arranging  cunning  contracts  which  leave  him  an 
exit  but  lock  the  other  man  in,  and  for  smart  eva 
sions  which  find  him  safe  and  comfortable  just 
within  the  strict  letter  of  the  law,  when  court  and 
jury  know  very  well  that  he  has  violated  the  spirit 
of  it.  He  is  a  frequent  and  faithful  and  capable 
officer  in  the  civil  service,  but  he  is  charged  with 
an  unpatriotic  disinclination  to  stand  by  the  flag  as 
a  soldier — like  the  Christian  Quaker. 

Now  if  you  offset  these  discreditable  features  by 
the  creditable  ones  summarized  in  a  preceding  para 
graph  beginning  with  the  words,  "  These  facts  are  all 
on  the  credit  side,"  and  strike  a  balance,  what  must 
the  verdict  be?  This,  I  think  :  that,  the  merits  and 
demerits  being  fairly  weighed  and  measured  on 
both  sides,  the  Christian  can  claim  no  superiority 
over  the  Jew  in  the  matter  of  good  citizenship. 

Yet  in  all  countries,  from  the  dawn  of  history, 
the  Jew  has  been  persistently  and  implacably  hated, 
and  with  frequency  persecuted. 


26l 


Point  No.  2. — "  Can  fanaticism  alone  account  for 
this?" 

Years  ago  I  used  to  think  that  it  was  responsible 
for  nearly  all  of  it,  but  latterly  I  have  come  to 
think  that  this  was  an  error.  Indeed,  it  is  now  my 
conviction  that  it  is  responsible  for  hardly  any 
of  it. 

In  this  connection  I  call  to  mind  Genesis,  chap 
ter  xlvii. 

We  have  all  thoughtfully — or  unthoughtfully— 
read  the  pathetic  story  of  the  years  of  plenty  and 
the  years  of  famine  in  Egypt,  and  how  Joseph, 
with  that  opportunity,  made  a  corner  in  broken 
hearts,  and  the  crusts  of  the  poor,  and  human  lib 
erty — a  corner  whereby  he  took  a  nation's  money 
all  away,  to  the  last  penny ;  took  a  nation's  live 
stock  all  away,  to  the  last  hoof ;  took  a  nation's 
land  away,  to  the  last  acre  ;  then  took  the  nation 
itself,  buying  it  for  bread,  man  by  man,  woman  by 
woman,  child  by  child,  till  all  were  slaves;  a  corner 
which  took  everything,  left  nothing ;  a  corner  so 
stupendous  that,  by  comparison  with  it,  the  most 
gigantic  corners  in  subsequent  history  are  but  baby 
things,  for  it  dealt  in  hundreds  of  millions  of  bush 
els,  and  its  profits  were  reckonable  by  hundreds  of 
millions  of  dollars,  and  it  was  a  disaster  so  crushing 
that  its  effects  have  not  wholly  disappeared  from 


262 


Egypt  to-day,  more  than  three  thousand  years 
after  the  event. 

Is  it  presumable  that  the  eye  of  Egypt  was  upon 
Joseph  the  foreign  Jew  all  this  time?  I  think  it 
likely.  Was  it  friendly  ?  We  must  doubt  it.  Was 
Joseph  establishing  a  character  for  his  race  which 
would  survive  long  in  Egypt?  and  in  time  would 
his  name  come  to  be  familiarly  used  to  express 
that  character — like  Shylock's?  It  is  hardly  to  be 
doubted.  Let  us  remember  that  this  was  centuries 
before  the  crucifixion. 

I  wish  to  come  down  eighteen  hundred  years 
later  and  refer  to  a  remark  made  by  one  of  the 
Latin  historians.  I  read  it  in  a  translation  many 
years  ago,  and  it  comes  back  to  me  now  with  force. 
It  was  alluding  to  a  time  when  people  were  still 
living  who  could  have  seen  the  Savior  in  the  flesh. 
Christianity  was  so  new  that  the  people  of  Rome 
had  hardly  heard  of  it,  and  had  but  confused  no 
tions  of  what  it  was.  The  substance  of  the  remark 
was  this  :  Some  Christians  were  persecuted  in  Rome 
through  error,  they  being  "  mistaken  for  Jews.* 

The  meaning  seems  plain.  These  pagans  had 
nothing  against  Christians,  but  they  were  quite 
ready  to  persecute  Jews.  For  some  reason  or 
other  they  hated  a  Jew  before  they  even  knew 
what  a  Christian  was.  May  I  not  assume,  then, 


that  the  persecution  of  Jews  is  a  thing  which  ante 
dates  Christianity  and  was  not  born  of  Christianity? 
I  think  so.  What  was  the  origin  of  the  feeling? 

When  I  was  a  boy,  in  the  back  settlements  of 
the  Mississippi  Valley,  where  a  gracious  and  beau 
tiful  Sunday-school  simplicity  and  unpractically 
prevailed,  the  " Yankee"  (citizen  of  the  New  Eng 
land  States)  was  hated  with  a  splendid  energy. 
But  religion  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  In  a  trade, 
the  Yankee  was  held  to  be  about  five  times  the 
match  of  the  Westerner.  His  shrewdness,  his  in 
sight,  his  judgment,  his  knowledge,  his  enterprise, 
and  his  formidable  cleverness  in  applying  these 
forces  were  frankly  confessed,  and  most  compe 
tently  cursed. 

In  the  cotton  States,  after  the  war,  the  simple 
and  ignorant  negroes  made  the  crops  for  the  white 
planter  on  shares.  The  Jew  came  down  in  force, 
set  up  shop  on  the  plantation,  supplied  all  the 
negro's  wants  on  credit,  and  at  the  end  of  the  sea 
son  was  proprietor  of  the  negro's  share  of  the  pres 
ent  crop  and  of  part  of  his  share  of  the  next  one. 
Before  long,  the  whites  detested  the  Jew,  and  it  is 
doubtful  if  the  negro  loved  him. 

The  Jew  is  being  legislated  out  of  Russia.  The 
reason  is  not  concealed.  The  movement  was  in 
stituted  because  the  Christian  peasant  and  villager 


264 

stood  no  chance  against  his  commercial  abilities. 
He  was  always  ready  to  lend  money  on  a  crop, 
and  sell  vodka  and  other  necessaries  of  life  on 
credit  while  the  crop  was  growing.  When  settle 
ment  day  came  he  owned  the  crop ;  and  next 
year  or  year  after  he  owned  the  farm,  like  Jo 
seph. 

In  the  dull  and  ignorant  England  of  John's  time 
everybody  got  into  debt  to  the  Jew.  He  gathered 
all  lucrative  enterprises  into  his  hands ;  he  was  the 
king  of  commerce  ;  he  was  ready  to  be  helpful  in 
all  profitable  ways ;  he  even  financed  crusades  for 
the  rescue  of  the  Sepulchre.  To  wipe  out  his  ac 
count  with  the  nation  and  restore  business  to  its 
natural  and  incompetent  channels  he  had  to  be 
banished  the  realm. 

For  the  like  reasons  Spain  had  to  banish  him 
four  hundred  years  ago,  and  Austria  about  a  couple 
of  centuries  later. 

In  all  the  ages  Christian  Europe  has  been  obliged 
to  curtail  his  activities.  If  he  entered  upon  a 
mechanical  trade,  the  Christian  had  to  retire  from 
it.  If  he  set  up  as  a  doctor,  he  was  the  best  one, 
and  he  took  the  business.  If  he  exploited  agricult 
ure,  the  other  farmers  had  to  get  at  something 
else.  Since  there  was  no  way  to  successfully  com 
pete  with  him  in  any  vocation,  the  law  had  to  step 


265 


in  and  save  the  Christian  from  the  poor-house. 
Trade  after  trade  was  taken  away  from  the  Jew  by 
statute  till  practically  none  was  left.  He  was  for 
bidden  to  engage  in  agriculture ;  he  was  forbidden 
to  practise  law ;  he  was  forbidden  to  practise 
medicine,  except  among  Jews ;  he  was  forbidden 
the  handicrafts.  Even  the  seats  of  learning  and 
the  schools  of  science  had  to  be  closed  against  this 
tremendous  antagonist.  Still,  almost  bereft  of  em 
ployments,  he  found  ways  to  make  money,  even 
ways  to  get  rich.  Also  ways  to  invest  his  takings 
well,  for  usury  was  not  denied  him.  In  the  hard 
conditions  suggested,  the  Jew  without  brains  could 
not  survive,  and  the  Jew  with  brains  had  to  keep 
them  in  good  training  and  well  sharpened  up,  or 
starve.  Ages  of  restriction  to  the  one  tool  which 
the  law  was  not  able  to  take  from  him — his  brain 
—have  made  that  tool  singularly  competent ;  ages 
of  compulsory  disuse  of  his  hands  have  atrophied 
them,  and  he  never  uses  them  now.  This  history 
has  a  very,  very  commercial  look,  a  most  sordid 
and  practical  commercial  look,  the  business  aspect 
of  a  Chinese  cheap-labor  crusade.  Religious  prej 
udices  may  account  for  one  part  of  it,  but  not  for 
the  other  nine. 

Protestants  have  persecuted  Catholics,  but  they 
did   not   take   their   livelihoods   away   from    them. 


266 


The  Catholics  have  persecuted  the  Protestants 
with  bloody  and  awful  bitterness,  but  they  never 
closed  agriculture  and  the  handicrafts  against  them. 
Why  was  that  ?  That  has  the  candid  look  of  gen 
uine  religious  persecution,  not  a  trade-union  boy 
cott  in  a  religious  disguise. 

The  Jews  are  harried  and  obstructed  in  Austria 
and  Germany,  and  lately  in  France ;  but  England 
and  America  give  them  an  open  field  and  yet  sur 
vive.  Scotland  offers  them  an  unembarrassed  field 
too,  but  there  are  not  many  takers.  There  are  a 
few  Jews  in  Glasgow,  and  one  in  Aberdeen ;  but 
that  is  because  they  can't  earn  enough  to  get  away. 
The  Scotch  pay  themselves  that  compliment,  but  it 
is  authentic. 

I  feel  convinced  that  the  Crucifixion  has  not 
much  to  do  with  the  world's  attitude  towards  the 
Jew ;  that  the  reasons  for  it  are  older  than  that 
event,  as  suggested  by  Egypt's  experience  and  by 
Rome's  regret  for  having  persecuted  an  unknown 
quantity  called  a  Christian,  under  the  mistaken  im 
pression  that  she  was  merely  persecuting  a  Jew. 
Merely  a  Jew — a  skinned  eel  who  was  used  to  it, 
presumably.  I  am  persuaded  that  in  Russia,  Aus 
tria,  and  Germany  nine-tenths  of  the  hostility  to 
the  Jew  comes  from  the  average  Christian's  in 
ability  to  compete  successfully  with  the  average 


26; 


Jew  in  business — in  either  straight  business  or  the 
questionable  sort. 

In  Berlin,  a  few  years  ago,  I  read  a  speech  which 
frankly  urged  the  expulsion  of  the  Jews  from  Ger 
many;  and  the  agitator's  reason  was  as  frank  as  his 
proposition.  It  was  this:  tliat  eighty-five  per  cent. 
of  the  successful  lawyers  of  Berlin  were  Jews,  and 
that  about  the  same  percentage  of  the  great  and 
lucrative  businesses  of  all  sorts  in  Germany  were  in 
the  hands  of  the  Jewish  race  !  Isn't  it  an  amazing 
confession  ?  It  was  but  another  way  of  saying 
that  in  a  population  of  48,000,000,  of  whom  only 
500,000  were  registered  as  Jews,  eighty-five  per 
cent,  of  the  brains  and  honesty  of  the  whole  was 
lodged  in  the  Jews.  I  must  insist  upon  the  honesty 
— it  is  an  essential  of  successful  business,  taken  by 
and  large.  Of  course  it  does  not  rule  out  rascals 
entirely,  even  among  Christians,  but  it  is  a  good 
working  rule,  nevertheless.  The  speaker's  figures 
may  have  been  inexact,  but  the  motive  of  persecu 
tion  stands  out  as  clear  as  day. 

The  man  claimed  that  in  Berlin  the  banks,  the 
newspapers,  the  theatres,  the  great  mercantile, 
shipping,  mining,  and  manufacturing  interests,  the 
big  army  and  city  contracts,  the  tramways,  and 
pretty  much  all  other  properties  of  high  value,  and 
also  the  small  businesses,  were  in  the  hands  of  the 


268 


Jews.  He  said  the  Jew  was  pushing  the  Christian 
to  the  wall  all  along  the  line ;  that  it  was  all  a 
Christian  could  do  to  scrape  together  a  living ;  and 
that  the  Jew  must  be  banished,  and  soon — there 
was  no  other  way  of  saving  the  Christian,  Here 
in  Vienna,  last  autumn,  an  agitator  said  that  all 
these  disastrous  details  were  true  of  Austria-Hun 
gary  also ;  and  in  fierce  language  he  demanded  the 
expulsion  of  the  Jews.  When  politicians  come 
out  without  a  blush  and  read  the  baby  act  in  this 
frank  way,  tmrebuked,  it  is  a  very  good  indication 
that  they  have  a  market  back  of  them,  and  know 
where  to  fish  for  votes. 

You  note  the  crucial  point  of  the  mentioned 
agitation ;  the  argument  is  that  the  Christian  can 
not  compete  with  the  Jew,  and  that  hence  his  very 
bread  is  in  peril.  To  human  beings  this  is  a  much 
more  hate-inspiring  thing  than  is  any  detail  con 
nected  with  religion.  With  most  people,  of  a 
necessity,  bread  and  meat  take  first  rank,  religion 
second.  I  am  convinced  that  the  persecution  of 
the  Jew  is  not  due  in  any  large  degree  to  religious 
prejudice. 

No,  the  Jew  is  a  money-getter;  and  in  getting 
his  money  he  is  a  very  serious  obstruction  to  less 
capable  neighbors  who  are  on  the  same  quest.  I 
think  that  that  is  the  trouble.  In  estimating 


209 

worldly  values  the  Jew  is  not  shallow,  but  deep. 
With  precocious  wisdom  he  found  out  in  the  morn 
ing  of  time  that  some  men  worship  rank,  some 
worship  heroes,  some  worship  power,  some  worship 
God,  and  that  over  these  ideals  they  dispute  and  can 
not  unite — but  that  they  all  worship  money ;  so  he 
made  it  the  end  and  aim  of  his  life  to  get  it.  He 
was  at  it  in  Egypt  thirty-six  centuries  ago ;  he  was 
at  it  in  Rome  when  that  Christian  got  persecuted 
by  mistake  for  him  ;  he  has  been  at  it  ever  since. 
The  cost  to  him  has  been  heavy ;  his  success  has 
made  the  whole  human  race  his  enemy — but  it  has 
paid,  for  it  has  brought  him  envy,  and  that  is  the 
only  thing  which  men  will  sell  both  soul  and  body 
to  get.  He  long  ago  observed  that  a  millionaire 
commands  respect,  a  two-millionaire  homage,  a 
multi-millionaire  the  deepest  deeps  of  adoration. 
We  all  know  that  feeling ;  we  have  seen  it  express 
itself.  We  have  noticed  that  when  the  average 
man  mentions  the  name  of  a  multi-millionaire  he 
does  it  with  that  mixture  in  his  voice  of  awe 
and  reverence  and  lust  which  burns  in  a  French 
man's  eye  when  it  falls  on  another  man's  cen 
time. 

Point  No.  4. — "  The  Jews  have  no  party ;  they 
are  non-participants." 

Perhaps  you  have  let  the  secret  out  and  given 


270 

yourself  away.  It  seems  hardly  a  credit  to  the 
race  that  it  is  able  to  say  that ;  or  to  you,  sir,  that 
you  can  say  it  without  remorse ;  more  that  you 
should  offer  it  as  a  plea  against  maltreatment,  in 
justice,  and  oppression.  Who  gives  the  Jew  the 
right,  who  gives  any  race  the  right,  to  sit  still,  in  a 
free  country,  and  let  somebody  else  look  after  its 
safety?  The  oppressed  Jew  was  entitled  to  all 
pity  in  the  former  times  under  brutal  autocracies, 
for  he  was  weak  and  friendless,  and  had  no  way 
to  help  his  case.  But  he  has  ways  now,  and  he 
has  had  them  for  a  century,  but  I  do  not  see  that 
he  has  tried  to  make  serious  use  of  them.  When 
the  Revolution  set  him  free  in  France  it  was  an 
act  of  grace — the  grace  of  other  people ;  he  does 
not  appear  in  it  as  a  helper.  I  do  not  know  that 
he  helped  when  England  set  him  free.  Among 
the  Twelve  Sane  Men  of  France  who  have  stepped 
forward  with  great  Zola  at  their  head  to  fight 
(and  win,  I  hope  and  believe*)  the  battle  for  the 
most  infamously  misused  Jew  of  modern  times, 
do  you  find  a  great  or  rich  or  illustrious  Jew 
helping?  In  the  United  States  he  was  created 
free  in  the  beginning — he  did  not  need  to  help, 
of  course.  In  Austria  and  Germany  and  France 

*  The  article  was  written  in  the  summer  of  1898. — ED. 


271 

he  has  a  vote,  but  of  what  considerable  use  is 
it  to  him  ?  He  doesn't  seem  to  know  how  to 
apply  it  to  the  best  effect.  With  all  his  splen 
did  capacities  and  all  his  fat  wealth  he  is  to-day  not 
politically  important  in  any  country.  In  America, 
as  early  as  1854,  the  ignorant  Irish  hod-carrier,  who 
had  a  spirit  of  his  own  and  a  way  of  exposing  it  to 
the  weather,  made  it  apparent  to  all  that  he  must 
be  politically  reckoned  with ;  yet  fifteen  years  be 
fore  that  we  hardly  knew  what  an  Irishman  looked 
like.  As  an  intelligent  force  and  numerically,  he 
has  always  been  away  down,  but  he  has  governed 
the  country  just  the  same.  It  was  because  he  was 
organized.  It  made  his  vote  valuable — in  fact, 
essential. 

You  will  say  the  Jew  is  everywhere  numerically 
feeble.  That  is  nothing  to  the  point — with  the 
Irishman's  history  for  an  object-lesson.  But  I  am 
coming  to  your  numerical  feebleness  presently.  In 
all  parliamentary  countries  you  could  no  doubt 
elect  Jews  to  the  legislatures — and  even  one  mem 
ber  in  such  a  body  is  sometimes  a  force  which 
counts.  How  deeply  have  you  concerned  your 
selves  about  this  in  Austria,  France,  and  Germany? 
Or  even  in  America,  for  that  matter?  You  remark 
that  the  Jews  were  not  to  blame  for  the  riots  in 
this  Reichsrath  here,  and  you  add  with  satisfaction 


272 

that  there  wasn't  one  in  that  body.  That  is  not 
strictly  correct ;  if  it  were,  would  it  not  be  in  order 
for  you  to  explain  it  and  apologize  for  it,  not  try 
to  make  a  merit  of  it?  But  I  think  that  the  Jew 
was  by  no  means  in  as  large  force  there  as  he 
ought  to  have  been,  with  his  chances.  Austria 
opens  the  suffrage  to  him  on  fairly  liberal  terms, 
and  it  must  surely  be  his  own  fault  that  he  is  so 
much  in  the  background  politically. 

As  to  your  numerical  weakness.  I  mentioned 
some  figures  awhile  ago — 500,000 — as  the  Jewish 
population  of  Germany.  I  will  add  some  more— 
6,000,000  in  Russia,  5,000,000  in  Austria,  250,000 
in  the  United  States.  I  take  them  from  memory ; 
I  read  them  in  the  Cyclopedia  Britannica  ten  or 
twelve  years  ago.  Still,  I  am  entirely  sure  of  them. 
If  those  statistics  are  correct,  my  argument  is  not 
as  strong  as  it  ought  to  be  as  concerns  America,  but 
it  still  has  strength.  It  is  plenty  strong  enough  as 
concerns  Austria,  for  ten  years  ago  5,000,000  was 
nine  per  cent,  of  the  empire's  population.  The 
Irish  would  govern  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  if  they 
had  a  strength  there  like  that. 

I  have  some  suspicions ;  I  got  them  at  second 
hand,  but  they  have  remained  with  me  these  ten  or 
twelve  years.  When  I  read  in  the  C.  B.  that  the 
Jewish  population  of  the  United  States  was  250,- 


273 

ooo,  I  wrote  the  editor,  and  explained  to  him  that 
I  was  personally  acquainted  with  more  Jews  than 
th'at  in  my  country,  and  that  his  figures  were  with 
out  a  doubt  a  misprint  for  25,000,000.  I  also  added 
that  I  was  personally  acquainted  with  that  many 
there ;  but  that  was  only  to  raise  his  confidence  in 
me,  for  it  was  not  true.  His  answer  miscarried, 
and  I  never  got  it ;  but  I  went  around  talking 
about  the  matter,  and  people  told  me  they  had  rea 
son  to  suspect  that  for  business  reasons  many  Jews, 
whose  dealings  were  mainly  with  the  Christians  did 
not  report  themselves  as  Jews  in  the  census.  It 
looked  plausible  ;  it  looks  plausible  yet.  Look  at 
the  city  of  New  York ;  and  look  at  Boston,  and 
Philadelphia,  and  New  Orleans,  and  Chicago,  and 
Cincinnati,  and  San  Francisco  —  how  your  race 
swarms  in  those  places ! — and  everywhere  else  in 
America,  down  to  the  least  little  village.  Read 
the  signs  on  the  marts  of  commerce  and  on  the 
shops ;  Goldstein  (gold  stone),  Edelstein  (precious 
stone),  Blumenthal  (flower-vale),  Rosenthal  (rose- 
vale),  Veilchenduft  (violet  odor),  Singvogel  (song 
bird),  Rosenzweig  (rose  branch),  and  all  the  amazing 
list  of  beautiful  and  enviable  names  which  Prussia 
and  Austria  glorified  you  with  so  long  ago.  It  is 
another  instance  of  Europe's  coarse  and  cruel  per 
secution  of  your  race  ;  not  that  it  was  coarse  and 
18 


274 


cruel  to  outfit  it  with  pretty  and  poetical  names 
like  those,  but  that  it  was  coarse  and  cruel  to  make 
it  pay  for  them  or  else  take  such  hideous  and  often 
indecent  names  that  to-day  their  owners  never  use 
them  ;  or,  if  they  do,  only  on  official  papers.  And 
it  was  the  many,  not  the  few,  who  got  the  odious 
names,  they  being  too  poor  to  bribe  the  officials  to 
grant  them  better  ones. 

Now  why  was  the  race  renamed?  I  have  been 
told  that  in  Prussia  it  was  given  to  using  fictitious 
names,  and  often  changing  them,  so  as  to  beat  the 
tax-gatherer,  escape  military  service,  and  so  on ; 
and  that  finally  the  idea  was  hit  upon  of  furnishing 
all  the  inmates  of  a  house  with  one  and  the  same 
surname,  and  then  holding  the  house  responsible 
right  along  for  those  inmates,  and  accountable  for 
any  disappearances  that  might  occur ;  it  made  the 
Jews  keep  track  of  eacli  other,  for  self-interest's 
sake,  and  saved  the  government  the  trouble.* 

*  In  Austria  the  renaming  was  merely  done  because  the  Jews  in 
some  newly  acquired  regions  had  no  surnames,  but  were  mostly 
named  Abraham  and  Moses,  and  therefore  the  tax-gatherer  could 
not  tell  t'other  from  which,  and  was  likely  to  lose  his  reason  over 
the  matter.  The  renaming  was  put  into  the  hands  of  the  War  De 
partment,  and  a  charming  mess  the  graceless  young  lieutenants 
made  of  it.  To  them  a  Jew  was  of  no  sort  of  consequence,  and 
they  labelled  the  race  in  a  way  to  make  the  angels  weep.  As  an 
example,  take  these  two:  Abraham  Bellyache  and  Schmul  Godbe- 
damned.  —  Culled  from  "Namens  -Studien"  by  Karl  R  mil  Franzos. 


275 

If  that  explanation  of  how  the  Jews  of  Prussia 
came  to  be  renamed  is  correct,  if  it  is  true  that 
they  fictitiously  registered  themselves  to  gain  cer 
tain  advantages,  it  may  possibly  be  true  that  in 
America  they  refrain  from  registering  themselves  as 
Jews  to  fend  off  the  damaging  prejudices  of  the 
Christian  customer.  I  have  no  way  of  knowing 
whether  this  notion  is  well  founded  or  not.  There 
may  be  other  and  better  ways  of  explaining  why 
only  that  poor  little  250,000  of  our  Jews  got  into 
the  Cyclopedia.  I  may,  of  course,  be  mistaken,  but 
I  am  strongly  of  the  opinion  that  we  have  an  im 
mense  Jewish  population  in'  America. 

Point  No.  3. — "  Can  Jews  do  anything  to  improve 
the  situation?" 

I  think  so.  If  I  may  make  a  suggestion  without 
seeming  to  be  trying  to  teach  my  grandmother  how 
to  suck  eggs,  I  will  offer  it.  In  our  days  we  have 
learned  the  value  of  combination.  We  apply  it 
everywhere — in  railway  systems,  in  trusts,  in  trade 
unions,  in  Salvation  Armies,  in  minor  politics,  in 
major  politics,  in  European  Concerts.  Whatever 
our  strength  may  be,  big  or  little,  we  organize  it. 
We  have  found  out  that  that  is  the  only  way  to 
get  the  most  out  of  it  that  is  in  it.  We  know  the 
weakness  of  individual  sticks,  and  the  strength  of 
the  concentrated  fagot.  Suppose  you  try  a  scheme 


276 


like  this,  for  instance.  In  England  and  America 
put  every  Jew  on  the  census-book  as  a  Jew  (in  case 
you  have  not  been  doing  that).  Get  up  volunteer 
regiments  composed  of  Jews  solely,  and,  when  the 
drum  beats,  fall  in  and  go  to  the  front,  so  as  to  re 
move  the  reproach  that  you  have  few  Massenas 
among  you,  and  that  you  feed  on  a  country  but 
don't  like  to  fight  for  it.  Next,  in  politics,  organ 
ize  you  strength,  band  together,  and  deliver  the 
casting  vote  where  you  can,  and,  where  you  can't, 
compel  as  good  terms  as  possible.  You  huddle  to 
yourselves  already  in  all  countries,  but  you  huddle 
to  no  sufficient  purpose,  politically  speaking.  You 
do  not  seem  to  be  organized,  except  for  your  char 
ities.  There  you  are  omnipotent ;  there  you  com 
pel  your  due  of  recognition — you  do  not  have  to 
beg  for  it.  It  shows  what  you  can  do  when  you 
band  together  for  a  definite  purpose. 

And  then  from  America  and  England  you  can 
encourage  your  race  in  Austria,  France,  and  Ger 
many,  and  materially  help  it.  If  was  a  pathetic 
tale  that  was  told  by  a  poor  Jew  in  Galicia  a  fort 
night  ago  during  the  riots,  after  he  had  been  raided 
by  the  Christian  peasantry  and  despoiled  of  every 
thing  he  had.  He  said  his  vote  was  of  no  value 
to  him,  and  he  wished  he  could  be  excused  from 
casting  it,  for,  indeed,  casting  it  was  a  sure  damage 


277 

to  him,  since  no  matter  which  party  he  voted  for, 
the  other  party  would  come  straight  and  take  its 
revenge  out  of  him.  Nine  per  cent,  of  the  popu 
lation  of  the  empire,  these  Jews,  and  apparently 
they  cannot  put  a  plank  into  any  candidate's  plat 
form  !  If  you  will  send  our  Irish  lads  over  here  I 
think  they  will  organize  your  race  and  change  the 
aspect  of  the  Reichsrath. 

You  seem  to  think  that  the  Jews  take  no  hand 
in  politics  here,  that  they  are  "  absolutely  non-par 
ticipants."  I  am  assured  by  men  competent  to 
speak  that  this  is  a  very  large  error,  that  the  Jews 
are  exceedingly  active  in  politics  all  over  the  em 
pire,  but  that  they  scatter  their  work  and  their 
votes  among  the  numerous  parties,  and  thus  lose 
the  advantages  to  be  had  by  concentration.  I 
think  that  in  America  they  scatter  too,  but  you 
know  more  about  that  than  I  do. 

Speaking  of  concentration,  Dr.  Herzl  has  a  clear 
insight  into  the  value  of  that.  Have  you  heard  of 
his  plan  ?  He  wishes  to  gather  the  Jews  of  the 
world  together  in  Palestine,  with  a  government  of 
their  own — under  the  suzerainty  of  the  Sultan,  I 
suppose.  At  the  Convention  of  Berne,  last  year, 
there  were  delegates  from  everywhere,  and  the 
proposal  was  received  with  decided  favor.  I  am 
not  the  Sultan,  and  I  am  not  objecting ;  but  if  that 


278 

concentration  of  the  cunningest  brains  in  the  world 
were  going  to  be  made  in  a  free  country  (bar  Scot 
land),  I  think  it  would  be  politic  to  stop  it.  It  will 
not  be  well  to  let  the  race  find  out  its  strength. 
If  the  horses  knew  theirs,  we  should  not  ride  any 
more. 

Point  No.  5. — "  Will  the  persecution  of  the  Jews 
ever  come  to  an  end?" 

On  the  score  of  religion,  I  think  it  has  already 
come  to  an  end.  On  the  score  of  race  prejudice 
and  trade,  I  have  the  idea  that  it  will  continue. 
That  is,  here  and  there  in  spots  about  the  world, 
where  a  barbarous  ignorance  and  a  sort  of  mere 
animal  civilization  prevail ;  but  I  do  not  think  that 
elsewhere  the  Jew  need  now  stand  in  any  fear  of 
being  robbed  and  raided.  Among  the  high  civili 
zations  he  seems  to  be  very  comfortably  situated 
indeed,  and  to  have  more  than  his  proportionate 
share  of  the  prosperities  going.  It  has  that  look 
in  Vienna.  I  suppose  the  race  prejudice  cannot 
be  removed  ;  but  he  can  stand  that ;  it  is  no  par 
ticular  matter.  By  his  make  and  ways  he  is  sub 
stantially  a  foreigner  wherever  he  may  be,  and  even 
the  angels  dislike  a  foreigner.  I  am  using  this  word 
foreigner  in  the  German  sense — stranger.  Nearly 
all  of  us  have  an  antipathy  to  a  stranger,  even  of 
our  own  nationality.  We  pile  gripsacks  in  a  vacant 


279 

seat  to  keep  him  from  getting  it  ;  and  a  dog  goes 
further,  and  does  as  a  savage  would — challenges 
him  on  the  spot.  The  German  dictionary  seems 
to  make  no  distinction  between  a  stranger  and  a 
foreigner ;  in  its  view  a  stranger  is  a  foreigner — a 
sound  position,  I  think.  You  will  always  be  by 
ways  and  habits  and  predilections  substantially 
strangers — foreigners — wherever  you  are,  and  that 
will  probably  keep  the  race  prejudice  against  you 
alive. 

But  you  were  the  favorites  of  Heaven  originally, 
and  your  manifold  and  unfair  prosperities  convince 
me  that  you  have  crowded  back  into  that  snug 
place  again.  Here  is  an  incident  that  is  significant. 
Last  week  in  Vienna  a  hailstorm  struck  the  pro 
digious  Central  Cemetery  and  made  wasteful  de 
struction  there.  In  the  Christian  part  of  it,  accord 
ing  to  the  official  figures,  621  window-panes  were 
broken ;  more  than  90x3  singing-birds  were  killed  ; 
five  great  trees  and  many  small  ones  were  torn  to 
shreds  and  the  shreds  scattered  far  and  wide  by 
the  wind  ;  the  ornamental  plants  and  other  decora 
tions  of  the  graves  were  ruined,  and  more  than  a 
hundred  tomb-lanterns  shattered  ;  and  it  took  the 
cemetery's  whole  force  of  300  laborers  more  than 
three  days  to  clear  away  the  storm's  wreckage.  In 
the  report  occurs  this  remark — and  in  its  italics 


280 


you  can  hear  it  grit  its  Christian  teeth :  " .  .  .  le- 
diglich  die  israelitische  Abtheilung  des  Friedhofes 
vom  Hagelwetter  gdnzlich  verschont  worden  war." 
Not  a  hailstone  hit  the  Jewish  reservation  !  Such 
nepotism  makes  me  tired. 

Point  No.  6. — "  What  has  become  of  the  Golden 
Rule?" 

It  exists,  it  continues  to  sparkle,  and  is  well  taken 
care  of.  It  is  Exhibit  A  in  the  Church's  assets, 
and  we  pull  it  out  every  Sunday  and  give  it  an 
airing.  But  you  are  not  permitted  to  try  to  smug 
gle  it  into  this  discussion,  where  it  is  irrelevant 
and  would  not  feel  at  home.  It  is  strictly  religious 
furniture,  like  an  acolyte,  or  a  contribution-plate, 
or  any  of  those  things.  It  has  never  been  intruded 
into  business ;  and  Jewish  persecution  is  not  a  re 
ligious  passion,  it  is  a  business  passion. 

To  conclude. — If  the  statistics  are  right,  the  Jews 
constitute  but  one  per  cent,  of  the  human  race.  It 
suggests  a  nebulous  dim  puff  of  star-dust  lost  in 
the  blaze  of  the  Milky  Way.  Properly  the  Jew 
ought  hardly  to  be  heard  of ;  but  he  is  heard  of, 
has  always  been  heard  of.  He  is  as  prominent  on 
the  planet  as  any  other  people,  and  his  commer 
cial  importance  is  extravagantly  out  of  proportion 
to  the  smallness  of  his  bulk.  His  contributions  to 
the  world's  list  of  great  names  in  literature,  science, 


28 1 

art,  music,  finance,  medicine,  and  abstruse  learning 
are  also  away  out  of  proportion  to  the  weakness 
of  his  numbers.  He  has  made  a  marvellous  fight 
in  this  world,  in  all  the  ages ;  and  has  done  it  with 
his  hands  tied  behind  him.  He  could  be  vain  of 
himself,  and  be  excused  for  it.  The  Egyptian, 
the  Babylonian,  and  the  Persian  rose,  filled  the 
planet  with  sound  and  splendor,  then  faded  to 
dream-stuff  and  passed  away  ;  the  Greek  and  the 
Roman  followed,  and  made  a  vast  noise,  and  they 
are  gone  ;  other  peoples  have  sprung  up  and  held 
their  torch  high  for  a  time,  but  it  burned  out,  and 
they  sit  in  twilight  now,  or  have  vanished.  The 
Jew  saw  them  all,  beat  them  all,  and  is  now  what 
he  always  was,  exhibiting  no  decadence,  no  in 
firmities  of  age,  no  weakening  of  his  parts,  no  slow 
ing  of  his  energies,  no  dulling  of  his  alert  and 
aggressive  mind.  All  things  are  mortal  but  the 
Jew ;  all  other  forces  pass,  but  he  remains.  What 
is  the  secret  of  his  immortality? 

Postscript — THE  JEW  AS  SOLDIER 

When  J  published  the  above  article  in  HARPER'S 
MONTHLY,  I  was  ignorant  — like  the  rest  of  the 
Christian  world  —  of  the  fact  that  the  Jew  had  a 
record  as  a  soldier.  I  have  since  seen  the  official 


282 


statistics,  and  I  find  that  he  furnished  soldiers  and 
high  officers  to  the  Revolution,  the  War  of  1812, 
and  the  Mexican  War.  In  the  Civil  War  he  was 
represented  in  the  armies  and  navies  of  both  the 
North  and  the  South  by  10  per  cent,  of  his  numer 
ical  strength — the  same  percentage  that  was  fur 
nished  by  the  Christian  populations  of  the  two  sec 
tions.  This  large  fact  means  more  than  it  seems 
to  mean  ;  for  it  means  that  the  Jew's  patriotism 
was  not  merely  level  with  the  Christian's,  but  over 
passed  it.  When  the  Christian  volunteer  arrived  in 
camp  he  got  a  welcome  and  applause,  but  as  a  rule 
the  Jew  got  a  snub.  His  company  was  not  de 
sired,  and  he  was  made  to  feel  it.  That  he  never 
theless  conquered  his  wounded  pride  and  sacrificed 
both  that  and  his  blood  for  his  flag  raises  the  aver 
age  and  quality  of  his  patriotism  above  the  Chris 
tian's.  His  record  for  capacity,  for  fidelity,  and  for 
gallant  soldiership  in  the  field  is  as  good  as  any 
one's.  This  is  true  of  the  Jewish  private  soldiers 
and  the  Jewish  generals  alike.  Major- General 
O.  O.  Howard  speaks  of  one  of  his  Jewish  staff- 
officers  as  being  "  of  the  bravest  and  best  ";  of  an 
other — killed  at  Chancellorsville — as  being  "  a  true 
friend  and  a  brave  officer  ";  he  highly  praises  two 
of  his  Jewish  brigadier-generals ;  finally,  he  uses 
these  strong  words :  "  Intrinsically  there  are  no 


283 


more  patriotic  men  to  be  found  in  the  country 
than  those  who  claim  to  be  of  Hebrew  descent, 
and  who  served  with  me  in  parallel  commands  or 
more  directly  under  my  instructions." 

Fourteen  Jewish  Confederate  and  Union  families 
contributed,  between  them,  fifty-one  soldiers  to  the 
war.  Among  these,  a  father  and  three  sons ;  and 
another,  a  father  and  four  sons. 

In  the  above  article  I  was  not  able  to  endorse 
the  common  'reproach  that  the  Jew  is  willing  to 
feed  upon  a  country  but  not  to  fight  for  it,  be 
cause  I  did  not  know  whether  it  was  true  or  false. 
I  supposed  it  to  be  true,  but  it  is  not  allowable  to 
endorse  wandering  maxims  upon  supposition — ex 
cept  when  one  is  trying  to  make  out  a  case.  That 
slur  upon  the  Jew  cannot  hold  up  its  head  in  pres 
ence  of  the  figures  of  the  War  Department.  It 
has  done  its  work,  and  done  it  long  and  faithfully, 
and  with  high  approval :  it  ought  to  be  pensioned 
off  now,  and  retired  from  active  service. 


STIRRING  TIMES  IN  AUSTRIA 


I.— THE  GOVERNMENT  IN  THE  FRYING-PAN 

HERE  in  Vienna  in  these  closing  days  of  1897 
one's  blood  gets  no  chance  to  stagnate.  The 
atmosphere  is  brimful  of  political  electricity. 
All  conversation  is  political ;  every  man  is  a  battery, 
with  brushes  overworn,  and  gives  out  blue  sparks 
when  you  set  him  going  on  the  common  topic. 
Everybody  has  an  opinion,  and  lets  you  have  it 
frank  and  hot,  and  out  of  this  multitude  of  counsel 
you  get  merely  confusion  and  despair.  For  no  one 
really  understands  this  political  situation,  or  can 
tell  you  what  is  going  to  be  the  outcome  of  it. 

Things  have  happened  here  recently  which  would 
set  any  country  but  Austria  on  fire  from  end  to 
end,  and  upset  the  government  to  a  certainty ;  but 
no  one  feels  confident  that  such  results  will  follow 
here.  Here,  apparently,  one  must  wait  and  see 
what  will  happen,  then  he  will  know,  and  not  be 
fore  ;  guessing  is  idle ;  guessing  cannot  help  the 


matter.  This  is  what  the  wise  tell  you  ;  they  all 
say  it ;  they  say  it  every  day,  and  it  is  the  sole 
detail  upon  which  they  all  agree. 

There  is  some  approach  to  agreement  upon  an 
other  point :  that  there  will  be  no  revolution.  Men 
say :  "  Look  at  our  history — revolutions  have  not 
been  in  our  line  ;  and  look  at  our  political  map — its 
construction  is  unfavorable  to  an  organized  upris 
ing,  and  without  unity  what  could  a  revolt  accom 
plish  ?  It  is  disunion  which  has  held  our  empire 
together  for  centuries,  and  what  it  has  done  in  the 
past  it  may  continue  to  do  now  and  in  the  future." 

The  most  intelligible  sketch  I  have  encountered 
of  this  unintelligible  arrangement  of  things  was 
contributed  to  the  Traveler  s  Record  by  Mr.  Forrest 
Morgan,  of  Hartford,  three  years  ago.  He  says  : 

"The  Austro- Hungarian  Monarchy  is  the  patchwork 
quilt,  the  Midway  Plaisance,  the  national  chain-gang  of 
Europe ;  a  state  that  is  not  a  nation,  but  a  collection  of  na 
tions,  some  with  national  memories  and  aspirations  and 
others  without,  some  occupying  distinct  provinces  almost 
purely  their  own,  and  others  mixed  with  alien  races,  but 
each  with  a  different  language  and  each  mostly  holding 
the  others  foreigners  as  much  as  if  the  link  of  a  common 
government  did  not  exist.  Only  one  of  its  races  even  now 
comprises  so  much  as  one-fourth  of  the  whole,  and  not  an 
other  so  much  as  one-sixth;  and  each  has  remained  for 
ages  as  unchanged  in  isolation,  however  mingled  together 
in  locality,  as  globules  of  oil  in  water.  There  is  nothing 


286 


else  in  the  modern  world  that  is  nearly  like  it,  though  there 
have  been  plenty  in  past  ages;  it  seems  unreal  and  impos 
sible  even  though  we  know  it  is  true ;  it  violates  all  our 
feeling  as  to  what  a  country  should  be  in  order  to  have 
a  right  to  exist ;  and  it  seems  as  though  it  was  too  ram 
shackle  to  go  on  holding  together  any  length  of  time.  Yet 
it  has  survived,  much  in  its  present  shape,  two  centuries  of 
storms  that  have  swept  perfectly  unified  countries  from  ex 
istence  and  others  that  have  brought  it  to*  the  verge  of  ruin, 
has  survived  formidable  European  coalitions  to  dismember 
it,  and  has  steadily  gained  force  after  each  ;  forever  chang 
ing  in  its  exact  make-up,  losing  in  the  West  but  gaining  in 
the  East,  the  changes  leave  the  structure  as  firm  as  ever, 
like  the  dropping  off  and  adding  on  of  logs  in  a  raft,  its 
mechanical  union  of  pieces  showing  all  the  vitality  of  genu 
ine  national  life." 

That  seems  to  confirm  and  justify  the  prevalent 
Austrian  faith  that  in  this-  confusion  of  unrelated 
and  irreconcilable  elements,  this  condition  of  incur 
able  disunion,  there  is  strength  —  for  the  govern 
ment.  Nearly  every  day  some  one  explains  to  me 
that  a  revolution  would  not  succeed  here.  "  It 
couldn't,  you  know.  Broadly  speaking,  all  the  na 
tions  in  the  empire  hate  the  government  —  but 
they  all  hate  each  other  too,  and  with  devoted 
and  enthusiastic  bitterness ;  no  two  of  them  can 
combine ;  the  nation  that  rises  must  rise  alone ; 
then  the  others  would  joyfully  join  the  govern 
ment  against  her,  and  she  would  have  just  a  fly's 
chance  against  a  combination  of  spiders.  This 


28; 


government  is  entirely  independent.  It  can  go  its 
own  road,  and  do  as  it  pleases ;  it  has  nothing  to 
fear.  In  countries  like  England  and  America, 
where  there  is  one  tongue  and  the  public  interests 
are  common,  the  government  must  take  account  of 
public  opinion  ;  but  in  Austria-Hungary  there  are 
nineteen  public  opinions — one  for  each  state.  No 
—two  or  three  for  each  state,  since  there  are  two 
or  three  nationalities  in  each.  A  government  can 
not  satisfy  all  these  public  opinions  ;  it  can  only  go 
through  the  motions  of  trying.  This  government 
does  that.  It  goes  through  the  motions,  and  they 
do  not  succeed  ;  but  that  does  not  worry  the  gov 
ernment  much." 

The  next  man  will  give  you  some  further  infor 
mation.  "  The  government  has  a  policy — a  wise 
one  —  and  sticks  steadily  to  it.  This  policy  is  — 
tranquillity :  keep  this  hive  of  excitable  nations  as 
quiet  as  possible  ;  encourage  them  to  amuse  them 
selves  with  things  less  inflammatory  than  politics. 
To  this  end  it  furnishes  them  an  abundance  of 
Catholic  priests  to  teach  them  to  be  docile  and 
obedient,  and  to  be  diligent  in  acquiring  ignorance 
about  things  here  below,  and  knowledge  about  the 
kingdom  of  heaven,  to  whose  historic  delights  they 
are  going  to  add  the  charm  of  their  society  by-and- 
by;  and  further — to  this  same  end — it  cools  off  the 


288 


newspapers  every  morning  at  five  o'clock,  whenever 
warm  events  are  happening."  There  is  a  censor  of 
the  press,  and  apparently  he  is  always  on  duty  and 
hard  at  work.  A  copy  of  each  morning  paper  is 
brought  to  him  at  five  o'clock.  His  official  wagons 
wait  at  the  doors  of  the  newspaper  offices  and  scud 
to  him  with  the  first  copies  that  come  from  the 
press.  His  company  of  assistants  read  every  line 


: 


FAC-SIMILE     OF    A    CENSORED     NEWSPAPER 

in  these  papers,  and  mark  everything  which  seems 
to  have  a  dangerous  look  ;  then  he  passes  final 
judgment  upon  these  markings.  Two  things  con 
spire  to  give  to  the  results  a  capricious  and  unbal 
anced  look :  his  assistants  have  diversified  notions 
as  to  what  is  dangerous  and  what  isn't;  he  can't 
get  time  to  examine  their  criticisms  in  much  detail; 


289 

and  so  sometimes  the  very  same  matter  which  is 
suppressed  in  one  paper  fails  to  be  damned  in  an 
other  one,  and  gets  published  in  full  feather  and 
unmodified.  Then  the  paper  in  which  it  was  sup 
pressed  blandly  copies  the  forbidden  matter  into  its 
evening  edition — provokingly  giving  credit  and  de 
tailing  all  the  circumstances  in  courteous  and  inof 
fensive  language — and  of  course  the  censor  cannot 
say  a  word. 

Sometimes  the  censor  sucks  all  the  blood  out  of 
a  newspaper  and  leaves  it  colorless  and  inane ; 
sometimes  he  leaves  it  undisturbed,  and  lets  it  talk 
out  its  opinions  with  a  frankness  and  vigor  hardly 
to  be  surpassed,  I  think,  in  the  journals  of  any 
country.  Apparently  the  censor  sometimes  revises 
his  verdicts  upon  second  thought,  for  several  times 
lately  he  has  suppressed  journals  after  their  issue 
and  partial  distribution.  The  distributed  copies  are 
then  sent  for  by  the  censor  and  destroyed.  I  have 
two  of  these,  but  at  the  time  they  were  sent  for  I 
could  not  remember  what  I  had  done  with  them. 

If  the  censor  did  his  work  before  the  morning 
edition  was  printed,  he  would  be  less  of  an  incon 
venience  than  he  is;  but,  of  course,  the  papers  can 
not  wait  many  minutes  after  five  o'clock  to  get  his 
verdict ;  they  might  as  well  go  out  of  business  as 
do  that ;  so  they  print  and  take  the  chances.  Then, 
19 


290 

if  they  get  caught  by  a  suppression,  they  must  strike 
out  the  condemned  matter  and  print  the  edition 
over  again.  That  delays  the  issue  several  hours, 
and  is  expensive  besides.  The  government  gets  the 
suppressed  edition  for  nothing.  If  it  bought  it, 
that  would  be  joyful,  and  would  give  great  satisfac 
tion.  Also,  the  edition  would  be  larger.  Some  of 
the  papers  do  not  replace  the  condemned  para 
graphs  with  other  matter ;  they  merely  snatch  them 
out  and  leave  blanks  behind — mourning  blanks, 
marked  "  Confiscated." 

The  government  discourages  the  dissemination 
of  newspaper  information  in  other  ways.  For  in 
stance,  it  does  not  allow  newspapers  to  be  sold  on 
the  streets ;  therefore  the  newsboy  is  unknown  in 
Vienna.  And  there  is  a  stamp  duty  of  nearly  a 
cent  upon  each  copy  of  a  newspaper's  issue.  Every 
American  paper  that  reaches  me  has  a  stamp  upon 
it,  which  has  been  pasted  there  in  the  post-office  or 
downstairs  in  the  hotel  office ;  but  no  matter  who 
put  it  there,  I  have  to  pay  for  it,  and  that  is  the 
main  thing.  Sometimes  friends  send  me  so  many 
papers  that  it  takes  all  I  can  earn  that  week  to  keep 
this  government  going. 

I  must  take  passing  notice  of  another  point  in 
the  government's  measures  for  maintaining  tran 
quillity.  Everybody  says  it  does  not  like  to  see 


291 

any  individual  attain  to  commanding  influence  in 
the  country,  since  such  a  man  can  become  a  dis 
turber  and  an  inconvenience.  "  We  have  as  much 
talent  as  the  other  nations,"  says  the  citizen,  re 
signedly,  and  without  bitterness,  ubut  for  the  sake 
of  the  general  good  of  the  country  we  are  discour 
aged  from  making  it  over-conspicuous  ;  and  not 
only  discouraged,  but  tactfully  and  skilfully  pre 
vented  from  doing  it,  if  we  show  too  much  persist 
ence.  Consequently  we  have  no  renowned  men ; 
in  centuries  we  have  seldom  produced  one — that  is, 
seldom  allowed  one  to  produce  himself.  We  can 
say  to-day  what  no  other  nation  of  first  importance 
in  the  family  of  Christian  civilization  can  say- 
that  there  exists  no  Austrian  who  has  made  an  en 
during  name  for  himself  which  is  familiar  all  around 
the  globe." 

Another  helper  toward  tranquillity  is  the  army. 
It  is  as  pervasive  as  the  atmosphere.  It  is  every 
where.  All  the  mentioned  creators,  promoters,  and 
preservers  of  the  public  tranquillity  do  their  several 
shares  in  the  quieting  work.  They  make  a  restful 
and  comfortable  serenity  and  reposefulness.  This 
is  disturbed  sometimes  for  a  little  while  :  a  mob 
assembles  to  protest  against  something;  it  gets 
noisy — noisier — still  noisier — finally  too  noisy  ;  then 
the  persuasive  soldiery  come  charging  down  upon 


it,  and  in  a  few  minutes  all  is  quiet  again,  and  there 
is  no  mob. 

There  is  a  Constitution  and  there  is  a  Parliament. 
The  House  draws  its  membership  of  425  deputies 
from  the  nineteen  or  twenty  states  heretofore 
mentioned.  These  men  represent  peoples  who 
speak  eleven  languages.  That  means  eleven  dis 
tinct  varieties  of  jealousies,  hostilities,  and  warring 
interests.  This  could  be  expected  to  furnish  forth 
a  parliament  of  a  pretty  inharmonious  sort,  and 
make  legislation  difficult  at  times — and  it  does  that. 
The  parliament  is  split  up  into  many  parties — the 
Clericals,  the  Progressists,  the  German  National 
ists,  the  Young  Czechs,  the  Social  Democrats,  the 
Christian  Socialists,  and  some  others  —  and  it  is 
difficult  to  get  up  working  combinations  among 
them.  They  prefer  to  fight  apart  sometimes. 

The  recent  troubles  have  grown  out  of  Count 
Badeni's  necessities.  He  could  not  carry  on  his 
government  without  a  majority  vote  in  the  House 
at  his  back,  and  in  order  to  secure  it  he  had  to 
make  a  trade  of  some  sort.  He  made  it  with  the 
Czechs — the  Bohemians.  The  terms  were  not  easy 
for  him :  he  must  pass  a  bill  making  the  Czech 
tongue  the  official  language  in  Bohemia  in  place  of 
the  German.  This  created  a  storm.  All  the  Ger 
mans  in  Austria  were  incensed.  In  numbers  they 


293 

form  but  a  fourth  part  of  the  empire's  population, 
but  they  urge  that  the  country's  public  business 
should  be  conducted  in  one  common  tongue, 
and  that  tongue  a  world  language — which  Ger 
man  is. 

However,  Badeni  secured  his  majority.  The  Ger 
man  element  in  parliament  was  apparently  become 
helpless.  The  Czech  deputies  were  exultant. 

Then  the  music  began.  Bedani's  voyage,  instead 
of  being  smooth,  was  disappointingly  rough  from 
the  start.  The  government  must  get  ihtAusgleich 
through.  It  must  not  fail.  Bedani's  majority  was 
ready  to  carry  it  through  ;  but  the  minority  was 
determined  to  obstruct  it  and  delay  it  until  the  ob 
noxious  Czech-language  measure  should  be  shelved. 

The  Ausgleich  is  an  Adjustment,  Arrangement, 
Settlement,  which  holds  Austria  and  Hungary  to 
gether.  It  dates  from  1867,  and  has  to  be  renewed 
every  ten  years.  It  establishes  the  share  which 
Hungary  must  pay  toward  the  expenses  of  the  im 
perial  government.  Hungary  is  a  kingdom  (the 
Emperor  of  Austria  is  its  King),  and  has  its  own 
parliament  and  governmental  machinery.  But  it 
has  no  foreign  office,  and  it  has  no  army — at  least 
its  army  is  a  part  of  the  imperial  army,  is  paid  out 
of  the  imperial  treasury,  and  is  under  the  control 
of  the  imperial  war  office. 


294 


The  ten-year  rearrangement  was  due  a  year  ago, 
but  failed  to  connect.  At  least  completely.  A 
year's  compromise  was  arranged.  A  new  arrange 
ment  must  be  effected  before  the  last  day  of  this 
year.  Otherwise  the  two  countries  become  separate 
entities.  The  Emperor  would  still  be  King  of 
Hungary — that  is,  King  of  an  independent  foreign 
country.  There  would  be  Hungarian  custom 
houses  on  the  Austrian  frontier,  and  there  would 
be  a  Hungarian  army  and  a  Hungarian  foreign 
office.  Both  countries  would  be  weakened  by  this, 
both  would  suffer  damage. 

The  Opposition  in  the  House,  although  in  the 
minority,  had  a  good  weapon  to  fight  with  in  the 
pending  Ausgleich.  If  it  could  delay  the  Ausgleich 
a  few  weeks,  the  government  would  doubtless  have 
to  withdraw  the  hated  language  bill  or  lose  Hun 
gary. 

The  Opposition  began  its  fight.  Its  arms  were 
the  Rules  of  the  House.  It  was  soon  manifest 
that  by  applying  these  Rules  ingeniously  it  could 
make  the  majority  helpless,  and  keep  it  so  as  long 
as  it  pleased.  It  could  shut  off  business  every  now 
and  then  with  a  motion  to  adjourn.  It  could  re 
quire  the  ayes  and  noes  on  the  motion,  and  use  up 
thirty  minutes  on  that  detail.  It  could  call  for  the 
reading  and  verification  of  the  minutes  of  the  pre- 


295 

ceding  meeting,  and  use  up  half  a  day  in  that  way. 
It  could  require  that  several  of  its  members  be  en 
tered  upon  the  list  of  permitted  speakers  pre 
viously  to  the  opening  of  a  sitting ;  and  as  there 
is  no  time  limit,  further  delays  could  thus  be  ac 
complished. 

These  were  all  lawful  weapons,  and  the  men  of 
the  Opposition  (technically  called  the  Left)  were 
within  their  rights  in  using  them.  They  used  them 
to  such  dire  purpose  that  all  parliamentary  business 
was  paralyzed.  The  Right  (the  government  side) 
could  accomplish  nothing.  Then  it  had  a  saving 
idea.  This  idea  was  a  curious  one.  It  was  to 
have  the  Presidents  and  Vice- Presidents  of  the 
parliament  trample  the  Rules  under  foot  upon  oc 
casion  ! 

This,  for  a  profoundly  embittered  minority  con 
structed  out  of  fire  and  gun-cotton  !  It  was  time 
for  idle  strangers  to  go  and  ask  leave  to  look  down 
out  of  a  gallery  and  see  what  would  be  the  result 
of  it. 

II. — A  MEMORABLE  SITTING 

And  now  took  place  that  memorable  sitting  of 
the  House  which  broke  two  records.  It  lasted  the 
best  part  of  two  days  and  a  night,  surpassing  by 
half  an  hour  the  longest  sitting  known  to  the 


296 

world's  previous  parliamentary  history,  and  break 
ing  the  long -speech  record  with  Dr.  Lecher's 
twelve-hour  effort,  the  longest  flow  of  unbroken 
talk  that  ever  came  out  of  one  mouth  since  the 
world  began. 

At  8.45,  on  the  evening  of  the  28th  of  October, 
when  the  House  had  been  sitting  a  few  minutes 
short  of  ten  hours,  Dr.  Lecher  was  granted  the 
floor.  It  was  a  good  place  for  theatrical  effects.  I 
think  that  no  other  Senate  House  is  so  shapely  as 
this  one,  or  so  richly  and  showily  decorated.  Its 
plan  is  that  of  an  opera-house.  Up  toward  the 
straight  side  of  it — the  stage  side — rise  a  couple  of 
terraces  of  desks  for  the  ministry,  and  the  official 
clerks  or  secretaries — terraces  thirty  feet  long,  and 
each  supporting  about  half  a  dozen  desks  with 
spaces  between  them.  Above  these  is  the  Presi 
dent's  terrace,  against  the  wall.  Along  it  are  dis 
tributed  the  proper  accommodations  for  the  pre 
siding  officer  and  his  assistants.  The  wall  is  of 
richly  colored  marble  highly  polished,  its  panelled 
sweep  relieved  by  fluted  columns  and  pilasters  of 
distinguished  grace  and  dignity,  which  glow  softly 
and  frostily  in  the  electric  light.  Around  the 
spacious  half-circle  of  the  floor  bends  the  great 
two-storied  curve  of  the  boxes,  its  frontage  elabo 
rately  ornamented  and  sumptuously  gilded.  On  the 


297 

floor  of  the  House  the  425  desks  radiate  fanwise 
from  the  President's  tribune. 

The  galleries  are  crowded  on  this  particular  even 
ing,  for  word  has  gone  about  that  the  Ausgleich  is 
before  the  House ;  that  the  President,  Ritter  von 
Abrahamowicz,  has  been  throttling  the  Rules;  that 
the  Opposition  are  in  an  inflammable  state  in  con 
sequence,  and  that  the  night  session  is  likely  to  be 
of  an  exciting  sort. 

The  gallery  guests  are  fashionably  dressed,  and 
the  finery  of  the  women  makes  a  bright  and  pretty 
show  under  the  strong  electric  light.  But  down 
on  the  floor  there  is  no  costumery. 

The  deputies  are  dressed  in  day  clothes ;  some 
of  the  clothes  neat  and  trim,  others  not ;  there  may 
be  three  members  in  evening  dress,  but  not  more. 
There  are  several  Catholic  priests  in  their  long 
black  gowns,  and  with  crucifixes  hanging  from 
their  necks.  No  member  wears  his  hat.  One  may 
see  by  these  details  that  the  aspects  are  not  those 
of  an  evening  sitting  of  an  English  House  of  Com 
mons,  but  rather  those  of  a  sitting  of  our  House  of 
Representatives. 

In  his  high  place  sits  the  President,  Abrahamo 
wicz,  object  Of  the  Opposition's  limitless  hatred. 
He  is  sunk  back  in  the  depths  of  his  arm-chair,  and 
has  his  chin  down.  He  brings  the  ends  of  his 


298 

spread  fingers  together  in  front  of  his  breast,  and 
reflectively  taps  them  together,  with  the  air  of  one 
who  would  like  to  begin  business  but  must  wait, 
and  be  as  patient  as  he  can.  It  makes  you  think 
of  Richelieu.  Now  and  then  he  swings  his  head 
up  to  the  left  or  to  the  right  and  answers  some 
thing  which  some  one  has  bent  down  to  say  to  him. 
Then  he  taps  his  fingers  again.  He  looks  tired, 
and  maybe  a  trifle  harassed.  He  is  a  gray  -  haired, 
long,  slender  man,  with  a  colorless  long  face,  which, 
in  repose,  suggests  a  death-mask ;  but  when  not  in 
repose  is  tossed  and  rippled  by  a  turbulent  smile 
which  washes  this  way  and  that,  and  is  not  easy  to 
keep  up  with — a  pious  smile,  a  holy  smile,  a  saintly 
smile,  a  deprecating  smile,  a  beseeching  and  suppli 
cating  smile ;  and  when  it  is  at  work  the  large  mouth 
opens,  and  the  flexible  lips  crumple,  and  unfold, 
and  crumple  again,  and  move  around  in  a  genial 
and  persuasive  and  angelic  way,  and  expose  large 
glimpses  of  the  teeth ;  and  that  interrupts  the 
sacredness  of  the  smile  and  gives  it  momentarily  a 
mixed  worldly  and  political  and  satanic  cast.  It  is 
a  most  interesting  face  to  watch.  And  then  the 
long  hands  and  the  body  —  they  furnish  great  and 
frequent  help  to  the  face  in  the  business  of  adding 
to  the  force  of  the  statesman's  words. 

To  change  the  tense.     At   the  time  of  which  I 


299 

have  just  been  speaking  the  crowds  in  the  galleries 
were  gazing  at  the  stage  and  the  pit  with  rapt  in 
terest  and  expectancy.  One  half  of  the  great  fan 
of  desks  was  in  effect  empty,  vacant ;  in  the  other 
half  several  hundred  members  were  bunched  and 
jammed  together  as  solidly  as  the  bristles  in  a 
brush  ;  and  they  also  were  waiting  and  expecting. 
Presently  the  Chair  delivered  this  utterance  : 

"  Dr.  Lecher  has  the  floor." 

Then  burst  out  such  another  wild  and  frantic 
and  deafening  clamor  as  has  not  been  heard  on  this 
planet  since  the  last  time  the  Comanches  surprised 
a  white  settlement  at  midnight.  Yells  from  the 
Left,  counter-yells  from  the  Right,  explosions  of 
yells  from  all  sides  at  once,  and  all  the  air  sawed 
and  pawed  and  clawed  and  cloven  by  a  writhing 
confusion  of  gesturing  arms  and  hands.  Out  of 
the  midst  of  this  thunder  and  turmoil  and  tempest 
rose  Dr.  Lecher,  serene  and  collected,  and  the 
providential  length  of  him  enabled  his  head  to 
show  out  above  it.  He  began  his  twelve-hour 
speech.  At  any  rate,  his  lips  could  be  seen  to 
move,  and  that  was  evidence.  On  high  sat  the 
President,  imploring  order,  with  his  long  hands  put 
together  as  in  prayer,  and  his  lips  visibly  but  not 
hearably  speaking.  At  intervals  he  grasped  his 
bell  and  swung  it  up  and  down  with  vigor,  adding 


3oo 

its    keen    clamor    to    the    storm    weltering    there 
below. 

Dr.  Lecher  went  on  with  his  pantomime  speech, 
contented,  untroubled.  Here  and  there  and  now 
and  then  powerful  voices  burst  above  the  din,  and 
delivered  an  ejaculation  that  was  heard.  Then  the 
din  ceased  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  gave  oppor 
tunity  to  hear  what  the  Chair  might  answer;  then 
the  noise  broke  out  again.  Apparently  the  Presi 
dent  was  being  charged  with  all  sorts  of  illegal 
exercises  of  power  in  the  interest  of  the  Right  (the 
government  side) :  among  these,  with  arbitrarily 
closing  an  Order  of  Business  before  it  was  finished; 
with  an  unfair  distribution  of  the  right  to  the  floor; 
with  refusal  of  the  floor,  upon  quibble  and  protest, 
to  members  entitled  to  it ;  with  stopping  a  speak 
er's  speech  upon  quibble  and  protest ;  and  with 
other  transgressions  of  the  Rules  of  the  House. 
One  of  the  interrupters  who  made  himself  heard 
was  a  young  fellow  of  slight  build  and  neat  dress, 
who  stood  a  little  apart  from  the  solid  crowd  and 
leaned  negligently,  with  folded  arms  and  feet 
crossed,  against  a  desk.  Trim  and  handsome ; 
strong  face  and  thin  features ;  black  hair  roughed 
up  ;  parsimonious  mustache  ;  resonant  great  voice, 
of  good  tone  and  pitch.  It  is  Wolf,  capable  and 
hospitable  with  sword  and  pistol;  fighter  of  the 


DR.    ORTON    LECHER 


recent  duel  with  Count  Badeni,  the  head  of  the 
government.  He  shot  Badeni  through  the  arm, 
and  then  walked  over  in  the  politest  way  and  in 
spected  his  game,  shook  hands,  expressed  regret, 
and  all  that.  Out  of  him  came  early  this  thunder 
ing  peal,  audible  above  the  storm  : 

"  I  demand  the  floor.     I  wish  to  offer  a  motion." 

In  the  sudden  lull  which  followed,  the  President 
answered,  "  Dr.  Lecher  has  the  floor." 

Wolf.  "  I  move  the  close  of  the  sitting  !" 

P.  "  Representative  Lecher  has  the  floor." 
[Stormy  outburst  from  the  Left — that  is,  the  Op 
position.] 

Wolf.  "  I  demand  the  floor  for  the  introduction 
of  a  formal  motion.  [Pause.]  Mr.  President,  are 
you  going  to  grant  it,  or  not  ?  [Crash  of  approval 
from  the  Left.]  I  will  keep  on  demanding  the 
floor  till  I  get  it." 

P.  "  I  call  Representative  Wolf  to  order.  Dr. 
Lecher  has  the  floor." 

Wolf.  "  Mr.  President,  are  you  going  to  observe 
the  Rules  of  this  House?"  [Tempest  of  applause 
and  confused  ejaculations  from  the  Left — a  boom 
and  roar  which  long  endured,  and  stopped  all  busi 
ness  for  the  time  being.] 

Dr.  von  Pessler.  "By  the  Rules  motions  are  in 
order,  and  the  Chair  must  put  them  to  vote." 


3Q2 

For  answer  the  President  (who  is  a  Pole — I  make 
this  remark  in  passing)  began  to  jangle  his  bell  with 
energy  at  the  moment  that  that  wild  pandemonium 
of  voices  burst  out  again. 

Wolf  (hearable  above  the  storm).  "  Mr.  Presi 
dent,  I  demand  the  floor.  We  intend  to  find  out, 
here  and  now,  which  is  the  hardest,  a  Pole  s  skull 
or  a  German  s  /" 

This  brought  out  a  perfect  cyclone  of  satisfaction 
from  the  Left.  In  the  midst  of  it  some  one  again 
moved  an  adjournment.  The  President  blandly  an 
swered  that  Dr.  Lecher  had  the  floor.  Which  was 
true ;  and  he  was  speaking,  too,  calmly,  earnestly, 
and  argumentatively;  and  the  official  stenographers 
had  left  their  places  and  were  at  his  elbows  taking 
down  his  words,  he  leaning  and  orating  into  their 
ears — a  most  curious  and  interesting  scene. 

Dr.  von  Pessler  (to  the  Chair).  "  Do  not  drive 
us  to  extremities !" 

The  tempest  burst  out  again :  yells  of  approval 
from  the  Left,  catcalls  and  ironical  laughter  from 
the  Right.  At  this  point  a  new  and  most  effective 
noise-maker  was  pressed  into  service.  Each  desk 
has  an  extension,  consisting  of  a  removable  board 
eighteen  inches  long,  six  wide,  and  a  half-inch  thick- 
A  member  pulled  one  of  these  out  and  began  to 
belabor  the  top  of  his  desk  with  it.  Instantly 


303 

other  members  followed  suit,  and  perhaps  you  can 
imagine  the  result.  Of  all  conceivable  rackets  it  is 
the  most  ear-splitting,  intolerable,  and  altogether 
fiendish. 

The  persecuted  President  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  closed  his  eyes,  clasped  his  hands  in  his  lap, 
and  a  look  of  pathetic  resignation  crept  over  his 
long  face.  It  is  the  way  a  country  schoolmaster 
used  to  look  in  days  long  past  when  he  had  refused 
his  school  a  holiday  and  it  had  risen  against  him 
in  ill-mannered  riot  and  violence  and  insurrection. 
Twice  a  motion  to  adjourn  had  been  offered — a  mo 
tion  always  in  order  in  other  Houses,  and  doubtless 
so  in  this  one  also.  The  President  had  refused  to 
put  these  motions.  By  consequence,  he  was  not  in 
a  pleasant  place  now,  and  was  having  a  right  hard 
time.  Votes  upon  motions,  whether  carried  or  de 
feated,  could  make  endless  delay,  and  postpone  the 
Ausgleich  to  next  century. 

In  the  midst  of  these  sorrowful  circumstances 
and  this  hurricane  of  yells  and  screams  and  satanic 
clatter  of  desk-boards,  Representative  Dr.  Krona- 
wetter  unfeelingly  reminds  the  Chair  that  a  mo 
tion  has  been  offered,  and  adds :  "  Say  yes,  or  no  ! 
What  do  you  sit  there  for,  and  give  no  answer?" 

P.  "  After  I  have  given  a  speaker  the  floor,  I 
cannot  give  it  to  another.  After  Dr.  Lecher  is 


3Q4 

though,  I  will  put  your  motion."  [Storm  of  indig 
nation  from  the  Left.] 

Wolf  (to  the  Chair).  "  Thunder  and  lightning ! 
look  at  the  Rule  governing  the  case  !" 

Kronawetter.  "  I  move  the  close  of  the  sitting ! 
And  I  demand  the  ayes  and  noes !" 

Dr.  Lecher.  "  Mr.  President,  have  I  the  floor?" 

P.  "You  have  the  floor." 

Wolf  (to  the  Chair,  in  a  stentorian  voice  which 
cleaves  its  way  through  the  storm).  "  It  is  by  such 
brutalities  as  these  that  you  drive  us  to  extremi 
ties  !  Are  you  waiting  till  some  one  shall  throw 
into  your  face  the  word  that  shall  describe  what 
you  are 'bringing  about  ?*  [Tempest  of  insulted 
fury  from  the  Right.]  Is  that  what  you  are  waiting 
for,  old  Gray  head?"  [Long-continued  clatter  of 
desk-boards  from  the  Left,  with  shouts  of  "  The 
vote !  the  vote !"  An  ironical  shout  from  the 
Right,  "  Wolf  is  boss  !"] 

Wolf  keeps  on  demanding  the  floor  for  his  mo 
tion.  At  length— 

P.  "  I  call  Representative  Wolf  to  order !  Your 
conduct  is  unheard  of,  sir!  You  forget  that  you 
are  in  a  parliament ;  you  must  remember  where  you 
are,  sir."  [Applause  from  the  Right.  Dr.  Lecher 

*  That  is,  revolution. 


305 

is  still  peacefully  speaking,  the  stenographers  listen 
ing  at  his  lips.] 

Wolf  (banging  on  his  desk  with  his  desk-board). 
"  I  demand  the  floor  for  my  motion  !  I  won't 
stand  this  trampling  of  the  Rules  under  foot — no, 
not  if  I  die  for  it !  I  will  never  yield  !  You  have 
got  to  stop  me  by  force.  Have  I  the  floor?" 

P.  "  Representative  Wolf,  what  kind  of  behavior 
is  this?  I  call  you  to  order  again.  You  should 
have  some  regard  for  your  dignity." 

Dr.  Lecher  speaks  on.  Wolf  turns  upon  him 
with  an  offensive  innuendo. 

Dr.  Lecher.  "  Mr.  Wolf,  I  beg  you  to  refrain 
from  that  sort  of  suggestions."  [Storm  of  hand- 
clapping  from  the  Right.] 

This  was  applause  from  the  enemy,  for  Lecher 
himself,  like  Wolf,  was  an  Obstructionist. 

Wolf  growls  to  Lecher,  "  You  can  scribble  that 
applause  in  your  album  !" 

P.  "  Once  more  I  call  Representative  Wolf  to 
order !  Do  not  forget  that  you  are  a  Representa 
tive,  sir." 

Wolf  (slam-banging  with  his  desk-board).  "  I  will 
force  this  matter!  Are  you  going  to  grant  me  the 
floor,  or  not?" 

And  still  the  sergeant-at-arms  did  not  appear.  It 
was  because  there  wasn't  any.  It  is  a  curious  thing, 

20 


3Q6 

but  the  Chair  has  no  effectual  means  of  compelling 
order. 

After  some  more  interruptions : 

Wolf  (banging  with  his  board).  "  I  demand  the 
floor.  I  will  not  yield  !" 

P.  "  I  have  no  recourse  against  Representative 
Wolf.  In  the  presence  of  behavior  like  this  it  is 
to  be  regretted  that  such  is  the  case."  [A  shout 
from  the  Right,  "  Throw  him  out !"] 

It  is  true,  he  had  no  effective  recourse.  He  had 
an  official  called  an  "  Ordner,"  whose  help  he  could 
invoke  in  desperate  cases,  but  apparently  the  Ord 
ner  is  only  a  persuader,  not  a  compeller.  Appar 
ently  he  is  a  sergeant-at-arms  who  is  not  loaded  ;  a 
good  enough  gun  to  look  at,  but  not  valuable  for 
business. 

For  another  twenty  or  thirty  minutes  Wolf  went 
on  banging  with  his  board  and  demanding  his 
rights;  then  at  last  the  weary  President  threatened 
to  summon  the  dread  order-maker.  But  both  his 
manner  and  his  words  were  reluctant.  Evidently 
it  grieved  him  to  have  to  resort  to  this  dire  ex 
tremity.  He  said  to  Wolf,  "  If  this  goes  on,  I 
shall  feel  obliged  to  summon  the  Ordner,  and  beg 
him  to  restore  order  in  the  House." 

Wolf.  "  I'd  like  to  see  you  do  it !  Suppose  you 
fetch  in  a  few  policemen  too !  [Great  tumult.] 


3Q7 

Are  you  going  to  put  my  motion  to  adjourn,  or 
not?" 

Dr.  Lecher  continues  his  speech.  Wolf  accom 
panies  him  with  his  board-clatter. 

The  President  despatches  the  Ordner,  Dr.  Lang 
(himself  a  deputy),  on  his  order-restoring  mission. 
Wolf,  with  his  board  uplifted  for  defence,  confronts 
the  Ordner  with  a  remark  which  Boss  Tweed  might 
have  translated  into  "  Now  let's  see  what  you  are 
going  to  do  about  it !"  [Noise  and  tumult  all  over 
the  House.] 

Wolf  stands  upon  his  rights,  and  says  he  will 
maintain  them  till  he  is  killed  in  his  tracks.  Then 
he  resumes  his  banging,  the  President  jangles  his 
bell  and  begs  for  order,  and  the  rest  of  the  House 
augment  the  racket  the  best  it  can. 

Wolf.  "  I  require  an  adjournment,  because  I  find 
myself  personally  threatened.  [Laughter  from  the 
Right.]  Not  that  I  fear  for  myself;  I  am  only 
anxious  about  what  will  happen  to  the  man  who 
touches  me." 

The  Ordner.  "  I  am  not  going  to  fight  with  you." 

Nothing  came  of  the  efforts  of  the  angel  of  peace, 
and  he  presently  melted  out  of  the  scene  and  dis 
appeared.  Wolf  went  on  with  his  noise  and  with 
his  demands  that  he  be  granted  the  floor,  resting 
his  board  at  intervals  to  discharge  criticisms  and 


3Q8 

epithets  at  the  Chair.  Once  he  reminded  the 
Chairman  of  his  violated  promise  to  grant  him 
(Wolf)  the  floor,  and  said,  "  Whence  I  came,  we 
call  promise-breakers  rascals  !"  And  he  advised  the 
Chairman  to  take  his  conscience  to  bed  with  him 
and  use  it  as  a  pillow.  Another  time  he  said  that 
the  Chair  was  making  itself  ridiculous  before  all 
Europe.  In  fact,  some  of  Wolf's  language  was  al 
most  unparliamentary.  By-and-by  he  struck  the 
idea  of  beating  out  a  tune  with  his  board.  Later 
he  decided  to  stop  asking  for  the  floor,  and  to  con 
fer  it  upon  himself.  And  so  he  and  Dr.  Lecher 
now  spoke  at  the  same  time,  and  mingled  their 
speeches  with  the  other  noises,  and  nobody  heard 
either  of  them.  Wolf  rested  himself  now  and  then 
from  speech-making  by  reading,  in  his  clarion  voice, 
from  a  pamphlet. 

I  will  explain  that  Dr.  Lecher  was  not  making  a 
twelve-hour  speech  for  pastime,  but  for  an  impor 
tant  purpose.  It  was  the  government's  intention 
to  push  the  Ausgleich  through  its  preliminary  stages 
in  this  one  sitting  (for  which  it  was  the  Order  of 
the  Day),  and  then  by  vote  refer  it  to  a  select  com 
mittee.  It  was  the  Majority's  scheme — as  charged 
by  the  Opposition — to  drown  debate  upon  the  bill 
by  pure  noise — drown  it  out  and  stop  it.  The  de 
bate  being  thus  ended,  the  vote  upon  the  reference 


309 

would  follow — with  victory  for  the  government. 
But  into  the  government's  calculations  had  not 
entered  the  possibility  of  a  single-barrelled  speech 
which  would  occupy  the  entire  time-limit  of  the 
sitting,  and  also  get  itself  delivered  in  spite  of  all 
the  noise.  Goliath  was  not  expecting  David.  But 
David  was  there;  and  during  twelve  hours  he  tran 
quilly  pulled  statistical,  historical,  and  argumen 
tative  pebbles  out  of  his  scrip  and  slung  them  at 
the  giant ;  and  when  he  was  done  he  was  victor, 
and  the  day  was  saved. 

In  the  English  House  an  obstructionist  has  held 
the  floor  with  Bible -readings  and  other  outside 
matters ;  but  Dr.  Lecher  could  not  have  that  rest 
ful  and  recuperative  privilege  —  he  must  confine 
himself  strictly  to  the  subject  before  the  House. 
More  than  once  when  the  President  could  not  hear 
him  because  of  the  general  tumult,  he  sent  persons 
to  listen  and  report  as  to  whether  the  orator  was 
speaking  to  the  subject  or  not. 

The  subject  was  a  peculiarly  difficult  one,  and  it 
would  have  troubled  any  other  deputy  to  stick  to 
it  three  hours  without  exhausting  his  ammunition, 
because  it  required  a  vast  and  intimate  knowledge 
—  detailed  and  particularized  knowledge  —  of  the 
commercial,  railroading,  financial,  and  international 
banking  relations  existing  between  two  great  sov- 


3io 

ereignties,  Hungary  and  the  Empire.  But  Dr. 
Lecher  is  President  of  the  Board  of  Trade  of  his 
city  of  Briinn,  and  was  master  of  the  situation. 
His  speech  was  not  formally  prepared.  He  had  a 
few  notes  jotted  down  for  his  guidance  ;  he  had  his 
facts  in  his  head  ;  his  heart  was  in  his  work ;  and 
for  twelve  hours  he  stood  there,  undisturbed  by 
the  clamor  around  him,  and  with  grace  and  ease 
and  confidence  poured  out  the  riches  of  his  mind, 
in  closely  reasoned  arguments,  clothed  in  eloquent 
and  faultless  phrasing. 

He  is  a  young  man  of  thirty-seven.  He  is  tall 
and  well-proportioned,  and  has  cultivated  and  for 
tified  his  muscle  by  mountain-climbing.  If  he  were 
a  little  handsomer  he  would  sufficiently  reproduce 
for  me  the  Chauncey  Depew  of  the  great  New  Eng 
land  dinner  nights  of  some  years  ago;  he  has  De- 
pew's  charm  of  manner  and  graces  of  language  and 
delivery. 

There  was  but  one  way  for  Dr.  Lecher  to  hold 
the  floor — he  must  stay  on  his  legs.  If  he  should 
sit  down  to  rest  a  moment,  the  floor  would  be  taken 
from  him  by  the  enemy  in  the  Chair.  When  he 
had  been  talking  three  or  four  hours  he  himself 
proposed  an  adjournment,  in  order  that  he  might 
get  some  rest  from  his  wearing  labors ;  but  he  lim 
ited  his  motion  with  the  condition  that  if  it  was 


lost  he  should  be  allowed  to  continue  his  speech, 
and  if  it  carried  he  should  have  the  floor  at  the  next 
sitting.  Wolf  was  now  appeased,  and  withdrew  his 
own  thousand-times-offered  motion,  and  Dr.  Lech 
er's  was  voted  upon — and  lost.  So  he  went  on 
speaking. 

By  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  excitement  and 
noise-making  had  tired  out  nearly  everybody  but 
the  orator.  Gradually  the  seats  of  the  Right  un 
derwent  depopulation ;  the  occupants  had  slipped 
out  to  the  refreshment-rooms  to  eat  and  drink,  or 
to  the  corridors  to  chat.  Some  one  remarked  that 
there  was  no  longer  a  quorum  present,  and  moved 
a  call  of  the  House.  The  Chair  (Vice-President 
Dr.  Kramarz)  refused  to  put  it  to  vote.  There  was 
a  small  dispute  over  the  legality  of  this  ruling,  but 
the  Chair  held  its  ground. 

The  Left  remained  on  the  battle-field  to  support 
their  champion.  He  went  steadily  on  with  his 
speech ;  and  always  it  was  strong,  virile,  felicitous, 
and  to  the  point.  He  was  earning  applause,  and 
this  enabled  his  party  to  turn  that  fact  to  account. 
Now  and  then  they  applauded  him  a  couple  of 
minutes  on  a  stretch,  and  during  that  time  he  could 
stop  speaking  and  rest  his  voice  without  having  the 
floor  taken  from  him. 

At  a  quarter  to  two  a  member  of  the  Left  de- 


3I2 

manded  that  Dr.  Lecher  be  allowed  a  recess  for 
rest,  and  said  that  the  Chairman  was  "  heartless." 
Dr.  Lecher  himself  asked  for  ten  minutes.  The 
Chair  allowed  him  five.  Before  the  time  had  run 
out  Dr.  Lecher  was  on  his  feet  again. 

Wolf  burst  out  again  with  a  motion  to  adjourn. 
Refused  by  the  Chair.  Wolf  said  the  whole  par 
liament  wasn't  worth  a  pinch  of  powder.  The  Chair 
retorted  that  that  was  true  in  a  case  where  a  single 
member  was  able  to  make  all  parliamentary  busi 
ness  impossible.  Dr.  Lecher  continued  his  speech. 

The  members  of  the  Majority  went  out  by  de 
tachments  from  time  to  time  and  took  naps  upon 
sofas  in  the  reception-rooms ;  and  also  refreshed 
themselves  with  food  and  drink  —  in  quantities 
nearly  unbelievable — but  the  Minority  stayed  loy 
ally  by  their  champion.  Some  distinguished  dep 
uties  of  the  Majority  stayed  by  him  too,  compelled 
thereto  by  admiration  of  his  great  performance. 
When  a  man  has  been  speaking  eight  hours,  is  it 
conceivable  that  he  can  still  be  interesting,  still 
fascinating?  When  Dr.  Lecher  had  been  speaking 
eight  hours  he  was  still  compactly  surrounded  by 
friends  who  would  not  leave  him  and  by  foes  (of 
all  parties)  who  could  not ;  and  all  hung  enchanted 
and  wondering  upon  his  words,  and  all  testified 
their  admiration  with  constant  and  cordial  out- 


3^3 

bursts  of  applause.  Surely  this  was  a  triumph  with 
out  precedent  in  history. 

During  the  twelve-hour  effort  friends  brought  to 
the  orator  three  glasses  of  wine,  four  cups  of  coffee, 
and  one  glass  of  beer — a  most  stingy  re-enforce 
ment  of  his  wasting  tissues,  but  the  hostile  Chair 
would  permit  no  addition  to  it.  But,  no  matter, 
the  Chair  could  not  beat  that  man.  He  was  a 
garrison  holding  a  fort,  and  was  not  to  be  starved 
out. 

When  he  had  been  speaking  eight  hours  his  pulse 
was  72  ;  when  he  had  spoken  twelve,  it  was  100. 

He  finished  his  long  speech  in  these  terms,  as 
nearly  as  a  permissibly  free  translation  can  convey 
them  : 

"  I  will  now  hasten  to  close  my  examination  of 
the  subject.  I  conceive  that  we  of  the  Left  have 
made  it  clear  to  the  honorable  gentlemen  of  the 
other  side  of  the  House  that  we  are  stirred  by  no 
intemperate  enthusiasm  for  this  measure  in  its 
present  shape.  .  .  . 

"  What  we  require,  and  shall  fight  for  with  all 
lawful  weapons,  is  a  formal,  comprehensive,  and 
definitive  solution  and  settlement  of  these  vexed 
matters.  We  desire  the  restoration  of  the  earlier 
condition  of  things ;  the  cancellation  of  all  this  in 
capable  government's  pernicious  trades  with  Hun- 


314 

gary ;  and  then — release  from  the  sorry  burden  of 
the  Badeni  ministry ! 

"  I  voice  the  hope — I  know  not  if  it  will  be  ful 
filled — I  voice  the  deep  and  sincere  and  patriotic 
hope  that  the  committee  into  whose  hands  this  bill 
will  eventually  be  committed  will  take  its  stand 
upon  high  ground,  and  will  return  the  Ausgleich- 
Provisorium  to  this  House  in  a  form  which  shall 
make  it  the  protector  and  promoter  alike  of  the 
great  interests  involved  and  of  the  honor  of  our 
fatherland."  After  a  pause,  turning  toward  the 
government  benches  :  "  But  in  any  case,  gentlemen 
of  the  Majority,  make  sure  of  this :  henceforth, 
as  before,  you  will  find  us  at  our  post.  The 
Germans  of  Austria  will  neither  surrender  nor 
die!" 

Then  burst  a  storm  of  applause  which  rose  and 
fell,  rose  and  fell,  burst  out  again  and  again  and 
again,  explosion  after  explosion,  hurricane  after 
hurricane,  with  no  apparent  promise  of  ever  com 
ing  to  an  end ;  and  meantime  the  whole  Left  was 
surging  and  weltering  about  the  champion,  all  bent 
upon  wringing  his  hand  and  congratulating  him 
and  glorifying  him. 

Finally  he  got  away,  and  went  home  and  ate  five 
loaves  and  twelve  baskets  of  fishes,  read  the  morn 
ing  papers,  slept  three  hours,  took  a  short  drive, 


then  returned  to  the  House  and  sat  out  the  rest  of 
the  thirty-three-hour  session. 

To  merely  stand  up  in  one  spot  twelve  hours  on 
a  stretch  is  a  feat  which  very  few  men  could 
achieve  ;  to  add  to  the  task  the  utterance  of  a  hun 
dred  thousand  words  would  be  beyond  the  possi 
bilities  of  the  most  of  those  few;  to  superimpose 
the  requirement  that  the  words  should  be  put  into 
the  form  of  a  compact,  coherent,  and  symmetrical 
oration  would  probably  rule  out  the  rest  of  the 
few,  bar  Dr.  Lecher. 

III. — CURIOUS  PARLIAMENTARY  ETIQUETTE 

In  consequence  of  Dr.  Lecher's  twelve -hour 
speech  and  the  other  obstructions  furnished  by  the 
Minority,  the  famous  thirty-three-hour  sitting  of 
the  House  accomplished  nothing.  The  govern 
ment  side  had  made  a  supreme  effort,  assisting  it 
self  with  all  the  helps  at  hand,  both  lawful  and  un 
lawful,  yet  had  failed  to  get  the  Ausgleicli  into  the 
hands  of  a  committee.  This  was  a  severe  defeat. 
The  Right  was  mortified,  the  Left  jubilant. 

Parliament  was  adjourned  for  a  week — to  let 
the  members  cool  off,  perhaps — a  sacrifice  of  pre 
cious  time,  for  but  two  months  remained  in  which 
to  carry  the  all-important  Ausgleich  to  a  consum 
mation. 


If  I  have  reported  the  behavior  of  the  House  in 
telligibly,  the  reader  has  been  surprised  at  it,  and 
has  wondered  whence  these  law-makers  come  and 
what  they  are  made  of ;  and  he  has  probably  sup 
posed  that  the  conduct  exhibited  at  the  Long  Sit 
ting  was  far  out  of  the  common,  and  due  to  special 
excitement  and  irritation.  As  to  the  make-up  of 
the  House,  it  is  this :  the  deputies  come  from  all 
the  walks  of  life  and  from  all  the  grades  of  society. 
There  are  princes,  counts,  barons,  priests,  peasants, 
mechanics,  laborers,  lawyers,  judges,  physicians, 
professors,  merchants,  bankers,  shopkeepers.  They 
are  religious  men,  they  are  earnest,  sincere,  devoted, 
and  they  hate  the  Jews.  The  title  of  Doctor  is  so 
common  in  the  House  that  one  may  almost  say 
that  the  deputy  who  does  not  bear  it  is  by  that 
reason  conspicuous.  I  am  assured  that  it  is  not  a 
self-granted  title,  and  not  an  honorary  one,  but  an 
earned  one ;  that  in  Austria  it  is  very  seldom  con 
ferred  as  a  mere  compliment ;  that  in  Austria  the 
degrees  of  Doctor  of  Music,  Doctor  of  Philosophy, 
and  so  on,  are  not  conferred  by  the  seats  of  learn 
ing  ;  and  so,  when  an  Austrian  is  called  Doctor 
it  means  that  he  is  either  a  lawyer  or  a  physician, 
and  that  he  is  not  a  self-educated  man,  but  is  col 
lege-bred,  and  has  been  diplomaed  for  merit. 

That  answers  the  question  of  the  constitution  of 


317 

the  House.  Now  as  to  the  House's  curious  man 
ners.  The  manners  exhibited  by  this  convention 
of  Doctors  were  not  at  that  time  being  tried  as  a 
wholly  new  experiment.  I  will  go  back  to  a  pre 
vious  sitting  in  order  to  show  that  the  deputies  had 
already  had  some  practice. 

There  had  been  an  incident.  The  dignity  of  the 
House  had  been  wounded  by  improprieties  indulged 
in  in  its  presence  by  a  couple  of  its  members. 
This  matter  was  placed  in  the  hands  of  a  committee 
to  determine  where  the  guilt  lay,  and  the  degree 
of  it,  and  also  to  suggest  the  punishment.  The 
chairman  of  the  committee  brought  in  his  report. 
By  this  it  appeared  that,  in  the  course  of  a  speech, 
Deputy  Schrammel  said  that  religion  had  no 
proper  place  in  the  public  schools — it  was  a  private 
matter.  Whereupon  Deputy  Gregorig  shouted, 
"  How  about  free  love  !" 

To  this,  Deputy  Iro  flung  out  this  retort :  "  Soda- 
water  at  the  Wimberger !" 

This  appeared  to  deeply  offend  Deputy  Grego 
rig,  who  shouted  back  at  Iro,  "  You  cowardly  blath 
erskite,  say  that  again !" 

The  committee  had  sat  three  hours.  Gregorig 
had  apologized  ;  Iro  ha'd  explained.  Iro  explained 
that  he  didn't  say  anything  about  soda-water  at 
the  Wimberger.  He  explained  in  writing,  and  was 


very  explicit :  "  I  declare  upon  my  word  of  honor 
that  I  did  not  say  the  words  attributed  to  me." 

Unhappily  for  his  word  of  honor,  it  was  proved 
by  the  official  stenographers  and  by  the  testimony 
of  several  deputies  that  he  did  say  them. 

The  committee  did  not  officially  know  why  the 
apparently  inconsequential  reference  to  soda-water 
at  the  Wimberger  should  move  Deputy  Gregorig 
to  call  the  utterer  of  it  a  cowardly  blatherskite  ; 
still,  after  proper  deliberation,  it  was  of  the  opinion 
that  the  House  ought  to  formally  censure  the  whole 
business.  This  verdict  seems  to  have  been  regard 
ed  as  sharply  severe.  I  think  so  because  Deputy 
Dr.  Lueger,  Biirgermeister  of  Vienna,  felt  it  a  duty 
to  soften  the  blow  to  his  friend  Gregorig  by  show 
ing  that  the  soda-water  remark  was  not  so  innocu 
ous  as  it  might  look  ;  that,  indeed,  Gregorig's  tough 
retort  was  justifiable — and  he  proceeded  to  explain 
why.  He  read  a  number  of  scandalous  post-cards 
which  he  intimated  had  proceeded  from  Iro,  as 
indicated  by  the  handwriting,  though  they  were 
anonymous.  Some  of  them  were  posted  to  Grego 
rig  at  his  place  of  business,  and  could  have  been  read 
by  all  his  subordinates ;  the  others  were  posted  to 
Gregorig  s  wife.  Lueger  did  not  say — but  every 
body  knew — that  the  cards  referred  to  a  matter  of 
town  gossip  which  made  Mr.  Gregorig  a  chief  actor 


in  a  tavern  scene  where  siphon-squirting  played  a 
prominent  and  humorous  part,  and  wherin  women 
had  a  share. 

There  were  several  of  the  cards  ;  more  than  sev 
eral,  in  fact ;  no  fewer  lhan  five  were  sent  in  one 
day.  Dr.  Lueger  read  some  of  them,  and  described 
others.  Some  of  them  had  pictures  on  them  ;  one 
a  picture  of  a  hog  with  a  monstrous  snout,  and  be 
side  it  a  squirting  soda-siphon  ;  below  it  some  sar 
castic  doggerel. 

Gregorig  deals  in  shirts,  cravats,  etc.  One  of  the 
cards  bore  these  words:  "Much-respected  Deputy 
and  collar-sewer — or  stealer" 

Another:  "  Hurrah  for  the  Christian-Social  work 
among  the  women-assemblages !  Hurrah  for  the 
soda-squirter !"  Comment  by  Dr.  Lueger  ;  "  I  can 
not  venture  to  read  the  rest  of  that  one,  nor  the 
signature,  either." 

Another:  "  Would  you  mind  telling  me  if  .  .  ." 
Comment  by  Dr.  Lueger  :  "  The  rest  of  it  is  not 
properly  readable." 

To  Deputy  Gregorig's  wife:  "  Much  -respected 
Madam  Gregorig, — The  undersigned  desires  an  in 
vitation  to  the  next  soda-squirt."  Comment  by 
Dr.  Lueger  :  "  Neither  the  rest  of  the  card  nor  the 
signature  can  I  venture  to  read  to  the  House,  so 
vulgar  are  they." 


32Q 

The  purpose  of  this  card — to  expose  Gregorig  to 
his  family — was  repeated  in  others  of  these  anony 
mous  missives. 

The  House,  by  vote,  censured  the  two  improper 
deputies. 

This  may  have  had  a  modifying  effect  upon  the 
phraseology  of  the  membership  for  a  while,  and 
upon  its  general  exuberance  also,  but  it  was  not  for 
long.  As  has  been  seen,  it  had  become  lively  once 
more  on  the  night  of  the  Long  Sitting.  At  the 
next  sitting  after  the  long  one  there  was  certainly 
no  lack  of  liveliness.  The  President  was  persistent 
ly  ignoring  the  Rules  of  the  House  in  the  interest 
of  the  government  side,  and  the  Minority  were  in 
an  unappeasable  fury  about  it.  The  ceaseless  din 
and  uproar,  the  shouting  and  stamping  and  desk- 
banging,  were  deafening,  but  through  it  all  burst 
voices  now  and  then  that  made  themselves  heard. 
Some  of  the  remarks  were  of  a  very  candid  sort, 
and  I  believe  that  if  they  had  been  uttered  in 
our  House  of  Representatives  they  would  have 
attracted  attention.  I  will  insert  some  samples 
here.  Not  in  their  order,  but  selected  on  their 
merits : 

Dr.  Mayreder  (to  the  President).  "  You  have 
lied !  You  conceded  the  floor  to  me ;  make  it 
good,  or  you  have  lied  !" 


321 

Mr.  Glockner  (to  the  President).  "  Leave  !  Get 
out!" 

Wolf  (indicating  the  President).  "  There  sits  a 
man  to  whom  a  certain  title  belongs !" 

Unto  Wolf,  who  is  continuously  reading,  in  a 
powerful  voice,  from  a  newspaper,  arrive  these  per 
sonal  remarks  from  the  Majority  :  "  Oh,  shut  your 
mouth!"  "Put  him  out!"  "Out  with  him!" 
Wolf  stops  reading  a  moment  to  shout  at  Dr.  Lue- 
ger,  who  has  the  floor  but  cannot  get  a  hearing, 
"  Please,  Betrayer  of  the  People,  begin  !" 

Dr.  Lueger.  "  Meine  Herren— "  ["Oho!"  and 
groans.] 

Wolf.  "  That's  the  holy  light  of  the  Christian 
Socialists !" 

Mr.  Kletzenbauer  (Christian  Socialist).  "  Dam 
nation  !  are  you  ever  going  to  quiet  down  ?" 

Wolf  discharges  a  galling  remark  at  Mr.  Wohl- 
meyer. 

Wohlmeyer  (responding).  "  You  Jew,  you  !" 

There  is  a  moment's  lull,  and  Dr.  Lueger  begins 
his  speech.  Graceful,  handsome  man,  with  win 
ning  manners  and  attractive  bearing,  a  bright  and 
easy  speaker,  and  is  said  to  know  how  to  trim  his 
political  sails  to  catch  any  favoring  wind  that 
blows.  He  manages  to  say  a  few  words,  then  the 
tempest  overwhelms  him  again. 


322 

Wolf  stops  reading  his  paper  a  moment  to  say  a 
drastic  thing  about  Lueger  and  his  Christian-So 
cial  pieties,  which  sets  the  C.  S.'s  in  a  sort  of 
frenzy. 

Mr.  Vielolilawek.  "  You  leave  the  Christian  So 
cialists  alone,  you  word -of- honor -breaker !  Ob 
struct  all  you  want  to,  but  you  leave  them  alone ! 
You've  no  business  in  this  House ;  you  belong  in  a 
gin-mill !" 

Mr.  Prochazka.  "  In  a  lunatic -asylum  you 
mean  !" 

Vielohlawek.  "  It's  a  pity  that  such  a  man  should 
be  leader  of  the  Germans ;  he  disgraces  the  Ger 
man  name !" 

Dr.  Scheichcr.  "  It's  a  shame  that  the  like  of 
him  should  insult  us." 

Strohbach  (to  Wolf).  "Contemptible  cub — we  will 
bounce  thee  out  of  this !"  [It  is  inferable  that  the 
"  thee  "  is  not  intended  to  indicate  affection  this 
time,  but  to  re-enforce  and  emphasize  Mr.  Stroh- 
bach's  scorn.] 

Dr.  Sclieicher.  "His  insults  are  of  no  conse 
quence.  He  wants  his  ears  boxed." 

Dr.  Lueger  (to  Wolf).  "  You'd  better  worry  a 
trifle  over  your  Iro's  word  of  honor.  You  are  be 
having  like  a  street  arab." 

Dr.  Scheicher.    "It  is  infamous  !" 


323 

Dr.  Lueger.  "  And  these  shameless  creatures  are 
the  leaders  of  the  German  People's  Party !" 

Meantime  Wolf  goes  whooping  along  with  his 
newspaper  readings  in  great  contentment. 

Dr.  Pattai.  "Shut  up!  Shut  up!  Shut  up! 
You  haven't  the  floor !" 

Strohbach.   "  The  miserable  cub  !" 

Dr.  Lueger  (to  Wolf,  raising  his  voice  strenuously 
above  the  storm).  "  You  are  a  wholly  honorless 
street  brat  !"  [A  voice,  "  Fire  the  rapscallion  out  !" 
But  Wolf's  soul  goes  marching  noisily  on  just  the 
same.] 

Schbnerer  (vast  and  muscular,  and  endowed  with 
the  most  powerful  voice  in  the  Reichsrath  ;  comes 
ploughing  down  through  the  standing  crowds,  red, 
and  choking  with  anger;  halts  before  Deputy 
Wohlmeyer,  grabs  a  rule  and  smashes  it  with  a 
blow  upon  a  desk,  threatens  Wohlmeyer's  face  with 
his  fist,  and  bellows  out  some  personalities,  and  a 
promise).  "  Only  you  wait— we'll  teach  you."  [A 
whirlwind  of  offensive  retorts  assails  him  from  the 
band  of  meek  and  humble  Christian  Socialists  com 
pacted  around  their  leader,  that  distinguished  re 
ligious  expert,  Dr.  Lueger,  Burgermeister  of  Vienna. 
Our  breath  comes  in  excited  gasps  now,  and  we  are 
full  of  hope.  We  imagine  that  we  are  back  fifty 
years  ago  in  the  Arkansas  Legislature,  and  we  think 


we  know  what  is  going  to  happen,  and  are  glad  we 
came,  and  glad  we  are  up  in  the  gallery,  out  of  the 
way,  where  we  can  see  the  whole  thing  and  yet  not 
have  to  supply  any  of  the  material  for  the  inquest. 
However,  as  it  turns  out,  our  confidence  is  abused, 
our  hopes  are  misplaced.] 

Dr.  Pattai  (wildly  excited).  "  You  quiet  down,  or 
we  shall  turn  ourselves  loose !  There  will  be  cuffing- 

o 

of  ears !" 

Prochazka  (in  a  fury).  "  No— not  ear-boxing,  but 
genuine  blows  /" 

Vielohlawek.  "  I  would  rather  take  my  hat  off  to 
a  Jew  than  to  Wolf!" 

Strohbach  (to  Wolf).  "Jew  flunky!  Here  we 
have  been  fighting  the  Jews  for  ten  years,  and  now 
you  are  helping  them  to  power  again.  How  much 
do  you  get  for  it  ?" 

Holansky.  "  What  he  wants  is  a  strait-jacket !" 

Wolf  continues  his  readings.  It  is  a  market  re 
port  now. 

Remark  flung  across  the  House  to  Schonerer: 
"  Die  Grossmutter  auf  dem  Misthanfen  erzeugt 
w  or  den!" 

It  will  be  judicious  not  to  translate  that.  Its 
flavor  is  pretty  high,  in  any  case,  but  it  becomes 
particularly  gamy  when  you  remember  that  the 
first  gallery  was  well  stocked  with  ladies. 


CARLOS    WOLF 


Apparently  it  was  a  great  hit.  It  fetched  thun 
ders  of  joyous  enthusiam  out  of  the  Christian 
Socialists,  and  in  their  rapture  they  flung  biting 
epithets  with  wasteful  liberality  at  specially  de 
tested  members  of  the  Opposition  ;  among  others, 
this  one  at  Schonerer:  "  Bordell  in  der  Kruger- 
strasse  /"  Then  they  added  these  words,  which 
they  whooped,  howled,  and  also  even  sang,  in  a 
deep-voiced  chorus  :  "  Schmul  Leeb  Kohn!  Schmul 
Lceb  Kohn!  Schmul  Leeb  KoJm !  and  made  it 
splendidly  audible  above  the  banging  of  desk- 
boards  and  the  rest  of  the  roaring  cyclone  of  fiend 
ish  noises.  [A  gallery  witticism  comes  flitting  by 
from  mouth  to  mouth  around  the  great  curve : 
"  The  swan-song  of  Austrian  representative  gov 
ernment  !"  You  can  note  its  progress  by  the 
applausive  smiles  and  nods  it  gets  as  it  skims 
along.] 

Kletzenbauer.    "  Holofernes,  where    is   Judith?" 
[Storm  of  laughter.] 

Gregorig   (the    shirt- merchant  ).    "  This    Wolf- 
Theatre  is  costing  6000  florins !" 

Wolf  (w\\\\  sweetness).  " Notice  him,  gentlemen; 
it  is  Mr.  Gregorig."     [Laughter.] 

Vielohlawek  (to  Wolf).  "  You  Judas  !" 

Schneider.  "  Brothel-knight !" 

Chorus  of  Voices.  "  East-German  offal  tub !" 


326 

And  so  the  war  of  epithets  crashes  along,  with 
never-diminishing  energy  for  a  couple  of  hours. 

The  ladies  in  the  gallery  were  learning.  That 
was  well ;  for  by-and-by  ladies  will  form  a  part  of 
the  membership  of  all  the  legislatures  in  the  world  ; 
as  soon  as  they  can  prove  competency  they  will  be 
admitted.  At  present  men  only  are  competent  to 
legislate ;  therefore  they  look  down  upon  women, 
and  would  feel  degraded  if  they  had  to  have  them 
for  colleagues  in  their  high  calling. 

Wolf  is  yelling  another  market  report  now. 

Gessman.  "  Shut  up,  infamous  louse-brat !" 

During  a  momentary  lull  Dr.  Lueger  gets  a  hear 
ing  for  three  sentences  of  his  speech.  They  de 
mand  and  require  that  the  President  shall  suppress 
the  four  noisiest  members  of  the  Opposition. 

Wolf  (with  a  that-settles-it  toss  of  the  head). 
"  The  shifty  trickster  of  Vienna  has  spoken  !" 

Iro  belonged  to  Schonerer's  party.  The  word-of- 
honor  incident  has  given  it  a  new  name.  Gregorig 
is  a  Christian  Socialist,  and  hero  of  the  post-cards 
and  the  Wimberger  soda-squirting  incident.  He 
stands  vast  and  conspicuous,  and  conceited  and 
self-satisfied,  and  roosterish  and  inconsequential,  at 
Lueger's  elbow,  and  is  proud  and  cocky  to  be  in 
such  great  company.  He  looks  very  well  indeed ; 
really  majestic,  and  aware  of  it.  He  crows  out  his 


327 

little  empty  remark  now  and  then,  and  looks  as 
pleased  as  if  he  had  been  delivered  of  the  Ausgleich. 
Indeed,  he  does  look  notably  fine.  He  wears  al 
most  the  only  dress  vest  on  the  floor ;  it  exposes  a 
continental  spread  of  white  shirt-front ;  his  hands 
are  posed  at  ease  in  the  lips  of  his  trousers  pockets ; 
his  head  is  tilted  back  complacently ;  he  is  attitu 
dinizing  ;  he  is  playing  to  the  gallery.  However, 
they  are  all  doing  that.  It  is  curious  to  see.  Men 
who  only  vote,  and  can't  make  speeches,  and  don't 
know  how  to  invent  witty  ejaculations,  wander 
about  the  vacated  parts  of  the  floor,  and  stop  in  a 
good  place  and  strike  attitudes — attitudes  sugges 
tive  of  weighty  thought,  mostly — and  glance  fur 
tively  up  at  the  galleries  to  see  how  it  works ;  or  a 
couple  will  come  together  and  shake  hands  in  an 
artificial  way,  and  laugh  a  gay  manufactured  laugh, 
and  do  some  constrained  and  self-conscious  attitu 
dinizing;  and  they  steal  glances  at  the  galleries  to 
see  if  they  are  getting  notice.  It  is  like  a  scene 
on  the  stage — by-play  by  minor  actors  at  the  back 
while  the  stars  do  the  great  work  at  the  front. 
Even  Count  Badeni  attitudinizes  for  a  moment ; 
strikes  a  reflective  Napoleonic  attitude  of  fine  pict- 
uresqueness — but  soon  thinks  better  of  it  and  de 
sists.  There  are  two  who  do  not  attitudinize— 
poor  harried  and  insulted  President  Abrahamowicz, 


328 


who  seems  wholly  miserable,  and  can  find  no  way 
to  put  in  the  dreary  time  but  by  swinging  his  bell 
and  by  discharging  occasional  remarks  which  no 
body  can  hear ;  and  a  resigned  and  patient  priest, 
who  sits  lonely  in  a  great  vacancy  on  Majority  ter 
ritory  and  munches  an  apple. 

Schonerer  uplifts  his  fog-horn  of  a  voice  and 
shakes  the  roof  with  an  insult  discharged  at  the 
Majority. 

Dr.  Leuger.  "  The  Honorless  Party  would  better 
keep  still  here !" 

Gregorig  (the  echo,  swelling  out  his  shirt-front). 
"  Yes,  keep  quiet,  pimp  !" 

Schonerer  (to  Lueger).  "  Political  mountebank !" 

Prochazka  (to  Schonerer).  "  Drunken  clown  !" 

During  the  final  hour  of  the  sitting  many  happy 
phrases  were  distributed  through  the  proceedings. 
Among  them  were  these — and  they  are  strikingly 
good  ones  : 

"  Blatherskite !" 

"  Blackguard  !" 

"  Scoundrel!" 

"  Brothel-daddy !" 

This  last  was  the  contribution  of  Dr.  Gessman, 
and  gave  great  satisfaction.  And  deservedly.  It 
seems  to  me  that  it  was  one  of  the  most  sparkling 
things  that  was  said  during  the  whole  evening. 


329 

At  half  past  two  in  the  morning  the  House  ad 
journed.  The  victory  was  with  the  Opposition. 
No ;  not  quite  that.  The  effective  part  of  it  was 
snatched  away  from  them  by  an  unlawful  exercise 
of  Presidential  force — another  contribution  tow 
ard  driving  the  mistreated  Minority  out  of  their 
minds. 

At  other  sittings  of  the  parliament,  gentlemen 
of  the  Opposition,  shaking  their  fists  toward  the 
President,  addressed  him  as  "  Polish  Dog."  At  one 
sitting  an  angry  deputy  turned  upon  a  colleague 
and  shouted, 


You  must  try  to  imagine  what  it  was.  If  I 
should  offer  it  even  in  the  original  it  would  prob 
ably  not  get  by  the  Magazine  editor's  blue  pencil ; 
to  offer  a  translation  would  be  to  waste  my  ink,  of 
course.  This  remark  was  frankly  printed  in  its  en 
tirety  by  one  of  the  Vienna  dailies,  but  the  others 
disguised  the  toughest  half  of  it  with  stars. 

If  the  reader  will  go  back  over  this  chapter  and 
gather  its  array  of  extraordinary  epithets  into  a 
bunch  and  examine  them,  he  will  marvel  at  two 
things:  how  this  convention  of  gentlemen  could 
consent  to  use  such  gross  terms;  and  why  the 
users  were  allowed  to  get  out  of  the  place  alive. 
There  is  no  way  to  understand  this  strange  situa- 


330 

tion.  If  every  man  in  the  House  were  a  profes 
sional  blackguard,  and  had  his  home  in  a  sailor 
boarding-house,  one  could  still  not  understand  it; 
for  although  that  sort  do  use  such  terms,  they 
never  take  them.  These  men  are  not  professional 
blackguards ;  they  are  mainly  gentlemen,  and  edu 
cated  ;  yet  they  use  the  terms,  and  take  them  too. 
They  really  seem  to  attach  no  consequence  to 
them.  One  cannot  say  that  they  act  like  school 
boys  ;  for  that  is  only  almost  true,  not  entirely. 
Schoolboys  blackguard  each  other  fiercely,  and  by 
the  hour,  and  one  would  think  that  nothing  would 
ever  come  of  it  but  noise  ;  but  that  would  be  a 
mistake.  Up  to  a  certain  limit  the  result  would  be 
noise  only,  but,  that  limit  overstepped,  trouble 
would  follow  right  away.  There  are  certain  phrases 
— phrases  of  a  peculiar  character — phrases  of  the 
nature  of  that  reference  to  Schonerer's  grand 
mother,  for  instance — which  not  even  the  most 
spiritless  schoolboy  in  the  English-speaking  world 
would  allow  to  pass  unavenged.  One  difference 
between  schoolboys  and  the  law-makers  of  the 
Reichsrath  seems  to  be  that  the  law-makers  have 
no  limit,  no  danger-line.  Apparently  they  may 
call  each  other  what  they  please,  and  go  home  un- 
mutilated. 

Now,  in  fact,  they  did  have  a  scuffle  on  two  oc- 


casions,  but  it  was  not  on  account  of  names  called. 
There  has  been  no  scuffle  where  that  was  the 
cause. 

It  is  not  to  be  inferred  that  the  House  lacks  a 
sense  of  honor  because  it  lacks  delicacy.  That 
would  be  an  error.  Iro  was  caught  in  a  lie,  and  it 
profoundly  disgraced  him.  The  House  cut  him, 
turned  its  back  upon  him.  He  resigned  his  seat ; 
otherwise  he  would  have  been  expelled.  But  it 
was  lenient  with  Gregorig,  who  had  called  Iro  a 
cowardly  blatherskite  in  debate.  It  merely  went 
through  the  form  of  mildly  censuring  him.  That 
did  not  trouble  Gregorig. 

The  Viennese  say  of  themselves  that  they  are 
an  easy-going,  pleasure-loving  community,  making 
the  best  of  life,  and  not  taking  it  very  seriously. 
Nevertheless,  they  are  grieved  about  the  ways  of 
their  parliament,  and  say  quite  frankly  that  they 
are  ashamed.  They  claim  that  the  low  condition 
of  the  parliament's  manners  is  new,  not  old.  A 
gentleman  who  was  at  the  head  of  the  government 
twenty  years  ago  confirms  this,  and  says  that  in  his 
time  the  parliament  was  orderly  and  well-behaved. 
An  English  gentleman  of  long  residence  here  en 
dorses  this,  and  says  that  a  low  order  of  politicians 
originated  rhe  present  forms  of  questionable  speech 
on  the  stump  some  years  ago,  and  imported  them 


33^ 

into  the  parliament.*  However,  some  day  there 
will  be  a  Minister  of  Etiquette  and  a  sergeant-at- 
arms,  and  then  things  will  go  better.  I  mean  if 
parliament  and  the  Constitution  survive  the  present 
storm. 

IV. — THE  HISTORIC  CLIMAX 

During  the  whole  of  November  things  went 
from  bad  to  worse.  The  all-important  Ausgleich 
remained  hard  aground,  and  could  not  be  sparred 
off.  Badeni's  government  could  not  withdraw  the 
Language  Ordinance  and  keep  its  majority,  and 
the  Opposition  could  not  be  placated  on  easier 
terms.  One  night,  while  the  customary  pandemo 
nium  was  crashing  and  thundering  along  at  its 
best,  a  fire  broke  out.  It  was  a  surging,  strug 
gling,  shoulder -to -shoulder  scramble.  A  great 
many  blows  were  struck.  Twice  Schonerer  lifted 
one  of  the  heavy  ministerial  fauteuils — some  say 
with  one  hand — and  threatened  members  of  the 
Majority  with  it,  but  it  was  wrenched  away  from 
him ;  a  member  hammered  Wolf  over  the  head 

*  "In  that  gracious  bygone  time  when  a  mild  and  good-tempered 
spirit  was  the  atmosphere  of  our  House,  when  the  manner  of  our 
speakers  was  studiously  formal  and  academic,  and  the  storms  and 
explosions  of  to-day  were  wholly  unknown,"  etc. —  Translation  of 
the  opening  remark  of  an  editorial  in  this  morning's  JVetie  Freie 
Presse,  December  1 1 . 


333 

with  the  President's  bell,  and  another  member 
choked  him  ;  a  professor  was  flung  down  and  be 
labored  with  fists  and  choked  ;  he  held  up  an  open 
penknife  as  a  defence  against  the  blows ;  it  was 
snatched  from  him  and  flung  to  a  distance ;  it  hit  a 
peaceful  Christian  Socialist  who  wasn't  doing  any 
thing,  and  brought  blood  from  his  hand.  This  was 
the  only  blood  drawn.  The  men  who  got  ham 
mered  and  choked  looked  sound  and  well  next 
day.  The  fists  and  the  bell  were  not  properly  han 
dled,  or  better  results  would  have  been  apparent. 
I  am  quite  sure  that  the  fighters  were  not  in  earnest. 

On  Thanksgiving  Day  the  sitting  was  a  history- 
making  one.  On  that  day  the  harried,  bedeviled, 
and  despairing  government  went  insane.  In  order 
to  free  itself  from  the  thraldom  of  the  Opposition  it 
committed  this  curiously  juvenile  crime  :  it  moved 
an  important  change  of  the  Rules  of  the  House, 
forbade  debate  upon  the  motion,  put  it  to  a  stand- 
up  vote  instead  of  ayes  and  noes,  and  then  gravely 
claimed  that  it  had  been  adopted  ;  whereas,  to  even 
the  dullest  witness — if  I  without  immodesty  may 
pretend  to  that  place— it  was  plain  that  nothing 
legitimately  to  be  called  a  vote  had  been  taken 
at  all. 

I  think  that  Saltpeter  never  uttered  a  truer 
thing  than  when  he  said,  "  Whom  the  gods  would 


334 

destroy  they  first  make  mad."  Evidently  the 
government's  mind  was  tottering  when  this  bald 
insult  to  the  House  was  the  best  way  it  could  con 
trive  for  getting  out  of  the  frying-pan. 

The  episode  would  have  been  funny  if  the  mat 
ter  at  stake  had  been  a  trifle ;  but  in  the  circum 
stances  it  was  pathetic.  The  usual  storm  was  rag 
ing  in  the  House.  As  usual,  many  of  the  Majority 
and  the  most  of  the  Minority  were  standing  up — 
to  have  a  better  chance  to  exchange  epithets  and 
make  other  noises.  Into  this  storm  Count  Falken- 
hayn  entered,  with  his  paper  in  his  hand  ;  and  at 
once  there  was  a  rush  to  get  near  him  and  hear 
him  read  his  motion.  In  a  moment  he  was  walled 
in  by  listeners.  The  several  clauses  of  his  motion 
were  loudly  applauded  by  these  allies,  and  as 
loudly  disapplauded — if  I  may  invent  a  word — by 
such  of  the  Opposition  as  could  hear  his  voice. 
When  he  took  his  seat  the  President  promptly  put 
the  motion — persons  desiring  to  vote  in  the  affirma 
tive,  stand  up  !  The  House  was  already  standing 
up  ;  had  been  standing  for  an  hour ;  and  before  a 
third  of  it  had  found  out  what  the  President  had 
been  saying,  he  had  proclaimed  the  adoption  of  the 
motion !  And  only  a  few  heard  that.  In  fact, 
when  that  House  is  legislating  you  can't  tell  it 
from  artillery  practice. 


335 

You  will  realize  what  a  happy  idea  it  was  to  side 
track  the  lawful  ayes  and  noes  and  substitute  a 
stand-up  vote  by  this  fact :  that  a  little  later,  when 
a  deputation  of  deputies  waited  upon  the  President 
and  asked  him  if  he  was  actually  willing  to  claim 
that  that  measure  had  been  passed,  he  answered, 
"  Yes — and  unanimously"  It  shows  that  in  effect 
the  whole  House  was  on  its  feet  when  that  trick 
was  sprung. 

The  "  Lex  Falkenhayn,"  thus  strangely  born, 
gave  the  President  power  to  suspend  for  three 
days  any  deputy  who  should  continue  to  be  dis 
orderly  after  being  called  to  order  twice,  and  it 
also  placed  at  his  disposal  such  force  as  might  be 
necessary  to  make  the  suspension  effective.  So 
the  House  had  a  sergeant-at-arms  at  last,  and  a 
more  formidable  one,  as  to  power,  than  any  other 
legislature  in  Christendom  had  ever  possessed. 
The  Lex  Falkenhayn  also  gave  the  House  itself 
authority  to  suspend  members  for  thirty  days. 

On  these  terms  the  Ausgleich  could  be  put 
through  in  an  hour — apparently.  The  Opposition 
would  have  to  sit  meek  and  quiet,  and  stop  ob 
structing,  or  be  turned  into  the  street,  deputy  after 
deputy,  leaving  the  Majority  an  unvexed  field  for 
its  work. 

Certainly  the  thing  looked   well.     The   govern- 


336 

ment  was  out  of  the  frying-pan  at  last.  It  con 
gratulated  itself,  and  was  almost  girlishly  happy. 
Its  stock  rose  suddenly  from  less  than  nothing  to 
a  premium.  It  confessed  to  itself,  with  pride,  that 
its  Lex  Falkenhayn  was  a  master-stroke — a  work 
of  genius. 

However,  there  were  doubters — men  who  were 
troubled,  and  believed  that  a  grave  mistake  had 
been  made.  It  might  be  that  the  Opposition  was 
crushed,  and  profitably  for  the  country,  too  ;  but  the 
manner  of  it — the  manner  of  it !  That  was  the 
serious  part.  It  could  have  far-reaching  results ; 
results  whose  gravity  might  transcend  all  guessing. 
It  might  be  the  initial  step  toward  a  return  to 
government  by  force,  a  restoration  of  the  irrespon 
sible  methods  of  obsolete  times. 

There  were  no  vacant  seats  in  the  galleries  next 
day.  In  fact,  standing-room  outside  the  building 
was  at  a  premium.  There  were  crowds  there,  and 
a  glittering  array  of  helmeted  and  brass-buttoned 
police,  on  foot  and  on  horseback,  to  keep  them  from 
getting  too  much  excited.  No  one  could  guess 
what  was  going  to  happen,  but  every  one  felt  that 
something  was  going  to  happen,  and  hoped  he 
might  have  a  chance  to  see  it,  or  at  least  get  the 
news  of  it  while  it  was  fresh. 

At  noon  the  House  was   empty — for   I  do   not 


337 

count  myself.  Half  an  hour  later  the  two  galleries 
were  solidly  packed,  the  floor  still  empty.  An 
other  half-hour  later  Wolf  entered  and  passed  to 
his  place ;  then  other  deputies  began  to  stream  in, 
among  them  many  forms  and  faces  grown  familiar 
of  late.  By  one  o'clock  the  membership  was  pres 
ent  in  full  force.  A  band  of  Socialists  stood  grouped 
against  the  ministerial  desks,  in  the  shadow  of  the 
Presidential  tribune.  It  was  observable  that  these 
official  strongholds  were  now  protected  against 
rushes  by  bolted  gates,  and  that  these  were  in  ward 
of  servants  wearing  the  House's  livery.  Also  the 
removable  desk-boards  had  been  taken  away,  and 
nothing  left  for  disorderly  members  to  slat  with. 

There  was  a  pervading,  anxious  hush — at  least 
what  stood  very  well  for  a  hush  in  that  House.  It 
was  believed  by  many  that  the  Opposition  was 
cowed,  and  that  there  would  be  no  more  obstruc 
tion,  no  more  noise.  That  was  an  error. 

Presently  the  President  entered  by  the  distant 
door  to  the  right,  followed  by  Vice-President  Fuchs, 
and  the  two  took  their  way  down  past  the  Polish 
benches  toward  the  tribune.  Instantly  the  cus 
tomary  storm  of  noises  burst  out,  and  rose  higher 
and  higher,  and  wilder  and  wilder,  and  really  seemed 
to  surpass  anything  that  had  gone  before  it  in  that 
place.  The  President  took  his  seat,  and  begged 

22 


338 


for  order,  but  no  one  could  hear  him.  His  lips 
moved— one  could  see  that;  he  bowed  his  body 
forward  appealingly,  and  spread  his  great  hand 
eloquently  over  his  breast — one  could  see  that ;  but 
as  concerned  his  uttered  words,  he  probably  could 
not  hear  them  himself.  Below  him  was  that  crowd 
of  two  dozen  Socialists  glaring  up  at  him,  shaking 
their  fists  at  him,  roaring  imprecations  and  insult 
ing  epithets  at  him.  This  went  on  for  some  time. 
Suddenly  the  Socialists  burst  through  the  gates 
and  stormed  up  through  the  ministerial  benches, 
and  a  man  in  a  red  cravat  reached  up  and  snatched 
the  documents  that  lay  on  the  President's  desk 
and  flung  them  abroad.  The  next  moment  he  and 
his  allies  were  struggling  and  fighting  with  the 
half-dozen  uniformed  servants  who  were  there  to 
protect  the  new  gates.  Meantime  a  detail  of  So 
cialists  had  swarmed  up  the  side  steps  and  over 
flowed  the  President  and  the  Vice,  and  were  crowd 
ing  and  shouldering  and  shoving  them  out  of  the 
place.  They  crowded  them  out,  and  down  the 
steps  and  across  the  House,  past  the  Polish  benches; 
and  all  about  them  swarmed  hostile  Poles  and 
Czechs,  who  resisted  them.  One  could  see  fists 
go  up  and  come  down,  with  other  signs  and  shows 
of  a  heady  fight ;  then  the  President  and  the  Vice 
disappeared  through  the  door  of  entrance,  and  the 


339 

victorious  Socialists  turned  and  marched  back, 
mounted  the  tribune,  flung  the  President's  bell 
and  his  remaining  papers  abroad,  and  then  stood 
there  in  a  compact  little  crowd,  eleven  strong,  and 
held  the  place  as  if  it  were  a  fortress.  Their  friends 
on  the  floor  were  in  a  frenzy  of  triumph,  and  mani 
fested  it  in  their  deafening  way.  The  whole  House 
was  on  its  feet,  amazed  and  wondering. 

It  was  an  astonishing  situation,  and  imposingly 
dramatic.  Nobody  had  looked  for  this.  The  un 
expected  had  happened.  What  next  ?  But  there 
can  be  no  next ;  the  play  is  over ;  the  grand  climax 
is  reached ;  the  possibilities  are  exhausted ;  ring 
down  the  curtain. 

Not  yet.  That  distant  door  opens  again.  And 
now  we  see  what  history  will  be  talking  of  five  cen 
turies  hence :  a  uniformed  and  helmeted  battalion 
of  bronzed  and  stalwart  men  marching  in  double 
file  down  the  floor  of  the  House — a  free  parliament 
profaned  by  an  invasion  of  brute  force ! 

It  was  an  odious  spectacle — odious  and  awful. 
For  one  moment  it  was  an  unbelievable  thing — a 
thing  beyond  all  credibility  ;  it  must  be  a  delusion, 
a  dream,  a  nightmare.  But  no,  it  was  real— piti 
fully  real,  shamefully  real,  hideously  real.  These 
sixty  policemen  had  been  soldiers,  and  they  went 
at  their  work  with  the  cold  unsentimentality  of 


340 

their  trade.  They  ascended  the  steps  of  the  trib 
une,  laid  their  hands  upon  the  inviolable  persons 
of  the  representatives  of  a  nation,  and  dragged  and 
tugged  and  hauled  them  down  the  steps  and  out 
at  the  door;  then  ranged  themselves  in  stately 
military  array  in  front  of  the  ministerial  estrade, 
and  so  stood. 

It  was  a  tremendous  episode.  The  memory  of 
it  will  outlast  all  the  thrones  that  exist  to-day.  In 
the  whole  history  of  free  parliaments  the  like 
of  it  had  been  seen  but  three  times  before.  It 
takes  its  imposing  place  among  the  world's  un 
forgettable  things.  I  think  that  in  my  lifetime 
I  have  not  twice  seen  abiding  history  made  be 
fore  my  eyes,  but  I  know  that  I  have  seen  it 
once. 

Some  of  the  results  of  this  wild  freak  followed 
instantly.  The  Badeni  government  came  down 
with  a  crash  ;  there  was  a  popular  outbreak  or  two 
in  Vienna  ;  there  were  three  or  four  days  of  furious 
rioting  in  Prague,  followed  by  the  establishing  there 
of  martial  law ;  the  Jews  and  Germans  were  har 
ried  and  plundered,  and  their  houses  destroyed ; 
in  other  Bohemian  towns  there  was  rioting — in  some 
cases  the  Germans  being  the  rioters,  in  others  the 
Czechs — and  in  all  cases  the  Jew  had  to  roast,  no 
matter  which  side  he  was  on.  We  are  well  along 


34i 

in  December  now  ;*  the  next  new  Minister-Presi 
dent  has  not  been  able  to  patch  up  a  peace  among 
the  warring  factions  of  the  parliament,  therefore 
there  is  no  use  in  calling  it  together  again  for  the 
present ;  public  opinion  believes  that  parliamen 
tary  government  and  the  Constitution  are  actually 
threatened  with  extinction,  and  that  the  perma 
nency  of  the  monarchy  itself  is  a  not  absolutely 
certain  thing! 

Yes,  the  Lex  Falkenhayn  was  a  great  invention, 
and  did  what  was  claimed  for  it — it  got  the  gov 
ernment  out  of  the  frying-pan. 

*  It  is  the  gth.— M.  T. 


THE   AUSTRIAN    EDISON   KEEPING 
SCHOOL  AGAIN 

BY  a  paragraph  in  the  Freie  Presse  it  appears 
that  Jan  Szczepanik,  the  youthful  inventor 
of  the  "  telelectroscope  "  (for  seeing  at  great 
distances)  and  some  other  scientific  marvels,  has 
been  having  an  odd  adventure,  by  help  of  the  state. 
Vienna  is  hospitably  ready  to  smile  whenever 
there  is  an  opportunity,  and  this  seems  to  be  a  fair 
one.  Three  or  four  years  ago,  when  Szczepanik 
was  nineteen  or  twenty  years  old,  he  was  a  school 
master  in  a  Moravian  village,  on  a  salary  of — I 
forget  the  amount,  but  no  matter ;  there  was  not 
enough  of  it  to  remember.  His  head  was  full  of 
inventions,  and  in  his  odd  hours  he  began  to  plan 
them  out.  He  soon  perfected  an  ingenious  inven 
tion  for  applying  photography  to  pattern-designing 
as  used  in  the  textile  industries,  whereby  he  pro 
posed  to  reduce  the  customary  outlay  of  time, 
labor,  and  money  expended  on  that  department  of 
loom-work  to  next  to  nothing.  He  wanted  to 


343 

carry  his  project  to  Vienna  and  market  it,  and,  as 
he  could  not  get  leave  of  absence,  he  made  his  trip 
without  leave.  This  lost  him  his  place,  but  did 
not  gain  him  his  market.  When  his  money  ran 
out  he  went  back  home,  and  was  presently  rein 
stated.  By -and -by  he  deserted  once  more,  and 
went  to  Vienna,  and  this  time  he  made  some  friends 
who  assisted  him,  and  his  invention  was  sold  to 
England  and  Germany  for  a  great  sum.  During 
the  past  three  years  he  has  been  experimenting 
and  investigating  in  velvety  comfort.  His  most 
picturesque  achievement  is  his  telelectroscope,  a 
device  which  a  number  of  able  men — including  Mr. 
Edison,  I  think — had  already  tried  their  hands  at, 
with  prospects  of  eventual  success.  A  Frenchman 
came  near  to  solving  the  difficult  and  intricate 
problem  fifteen  years  ago,  but  an  essential  detail 
was  lacking  which  he  could  not  master,  and  he  suf 
fered  defeat.  Szczepanik's  experiments  with  his 
pattern-designing  project  revealed  to  him  the  secret 
of  the  lacking  detail.  He  perfected  his  invention, 
and  a  French  syndicate  has  bought  it,  and  saved 
it  for  exhibition  and  fortune -making  at  the  Paris 
world's  fair. 

As  a  schoolmaster  Szczepanik  was  exempt  from 
military  duty.  When  he  ceased  from  teaching, 
being  an  educated  man  he  could  have  had  himself 


344 

enrolled  as  a  one-year  volunteer ;  but  he  forgot 
to  do  it,  and  this  exposed  him  to  the  privilege, 
and  also  the  necessity,  of  serving  three  years  in  the 
army.  In  the  course  of  duty,  the  other  day,  an 
official  discovered  the  inventor's  indebtedness  to 
the  state,  and  took  the  proper  measures  to  col 
lect.  At  first  there  seemed  to  be  no  way  for  the 
inventor  (and  the  state)  out  of  the  difficulty.  The 
authorities  were  loath  to  take  the  young  man  out 
of  his  great  laboratory,  where  he  was  helping  to 
shove  the  whole  human  race  along  on  its  road  to 
new  prosperities  and  scientific  conquests,  and  sus 
pend  operations  in  his  mental  Klondike  three  years, 
while  he  punched  the  empty  air  with  a  bayonet  in 
a  time  of  peace  ;  but  there  was  the  law,  and  how 
was  it  to  be  helped  ?  It  was  a  difficult  puzzle,  but 
the  authorities  labored  at  it  until  they  found  a  for 
gotten  law  some  wherewhich  furnished  a  loop-hole — 
a  large  one,  and  a  long  one,  too,  as  it  looks  to  me. 
By  this  piece  of  good-luck  Szczepanik  is  saved  from 
soldiering,  but  he  becomes  a  schoolmaster  again ; 
and  it  is  a  sufficiently  picturesque  billet,  when  you 
examine  it.  He  must  go'  back  to  his  village  every 
two  months,  and  teach  his  school  half  a  day — from 
early  in  the  morning  until  noon ;  and,  to  the  best  of 
my  understanding  of  the  published  terms,  he  must 
keep  this  up  the  rest  of  his  life  !  I  hope  so,  just  for 


345 

the  romantic  poeticalness  of  it.  He  is  twenty-four, 
strongly  and  compactly  built,  and  comes  of  an 
ancestry  accustomed  to  waiting  to  see  its  great 
grandchildren  married.  It  is  almost  certain  that 
he  will  live  to  be  ninety.  I  hope  so.  This  prom 
ises  him  sixty-six  years  of  useful  school  service. 
Dissected,  it  gives  him  a  chance  to  teach  school 
396  half-days,  make  396  railway  trips  going,  and 
396  back,  pay  bed  and  board  396  times  in  the  vil 
lage,  and  lose  possibly  1200  days  from  his  labora 
tory  work — that  is  to  say,  three  years  and  three 
months  or  so.  And  he  already  owes  three  years  to 
this  same  account.  This  has  been  overlooked ;  I 
shall  call  the  attention  of  the  authorities  to  it.  It 
may  be  possible  for  him  to  get  a  compromise  on 
this  compromise  by  doing  his  three  years  in  the 
army,  and  saving  one ;  but  I  think  it  can't  happen. 
This  government  " holds  the  age"  on  him;  it  has 
what  is  technically  called  a  "  good  thing  "  in  finan 
cial  circles,  and  knows  a  good  thing  when  it  sees  it. 
I  know  the  inventor  very  well,  and  he  has  my 
sympathy.  This  is  friendship.  But  I  am  throw 
ing  my  influence  with  the  government.  This  is 
politics. 

Szczepanik  left  for  his  village  in  Moravia  day  be 
fore  yesterday  to  "  do  time "  for  the  first  time 
under  his  sentence.  Early  yesterday  morning  he 


346 


started  for  the  school  in  a  fine  carriage,  which  was 
stocked  with  fruits,  cakes,  toys,  and  all  sorts  of 
knick-knacks,  rarities,  and  surprises  for  the  children, 
and  was  met  on  the  road  by  the  school  and  a  body 
of  schoolmasters  from  the  neighboring  districts, 
marching  in  column,  with  the  village  authorities  at 
the  head,  and  was  received  with  the  enthusiastic 
welcome  proper  to  the  man  who  had  made  their 
village's  name  celebrated,  and  conducted  in  state 
to  the  humble  doors  which  had  been  shut  against 
him  as  a  deserter  three  years  before.  It  is  out  of 
materials  like  these  that  romances  are  woven  ;  and 
when  the  romancer  has  done  his  best,  he  has  not 
improved  upon  the  unpainted  facts.  Szczepanik 
put  the  sapless  school-books  aside,  and  led  the 
children  a  holiday  dance  through  the  enchanted 
lands  of  science  and  invention,  explaining  to  them 
some  of  the  curious  things  which  he  had  contrived, 
and  the  laws  which  governed  their  construction 
and  performance,  and  illustrating  these  matters 
with  pictures  and  models  and  other  helps  to  a  clear 
understanding  of  their  fascinating  mysteries.  After 
this  there  was  play  and  a  distribution  of  the  fruits 
and  toys  and  things ;  and  after  this,  again,  some 
more  science,  including  the  story  of  the  invention 
of  the  telephone,  and  an  explanation  of  its  char 
acter  and  laws,  for  the  convict  had  brought  a  tele- 


347 


phone  along.  The  children  saw  that  wonder  for 
the  first  time,  and  they  also  personally  tested  its 
powers  and  verified  them. 

Then  school  "let  out  ";  the  teacher  got  his  cer 
tificate,  all  signed,  stamped,  taxed,  and  so  on,  said 
good-bye,  and  drove  off  in  his  carriage  under  a 
storm  of  "  Do  widzcnia  /"  ("  Au  revoir  /")  from  the 
children,  who  will  resume  their  customary  sobrieties 
until  he  comes  in  August  and  uncorks  his  flask  of 
scientific  fire-water  again. 


TRAVELLING    WITH    A    REFORMER 

LAST  spring  I  went  out  to  Chicago  to  see  the 
Fair,  and  although  I  did  not  see  it  my  trip 
was  not  wholly  lost — there  were  compen 
sations.  In  New  York  I  was  introduced  to  a  major 
in  the  regular  army  who  said  he  was  going  to  the 
Fair,  and  we  agreed  to  go  together.  I  had  to  go  to 
Boston  first,  but  that  did  not  interfere  ;  he  said  he 
would  go  along  and  put  in  the  time.  He  was  a 
handsome  man,  and  built  like  a  gladiator.  But  his 
ways  were  gentle,  and  his  speech  was  soft  and  per 
suasive.  He  was  companionable,  but  exceedingly 
reposeful.  Yes,  and  wholly  destitute  of  the  sense 
of  humor.  \  He  was  full  of  interest  in  everything 
that  went  on  around  him,  but  his  serenity  was  in 
destructible  ;  nothing  disturbed  him,  nothing  ex 
cited  him. 

But  before  the  day  was  done  I  found  that  deep 
down  in  him  somewhere  he  had  a  passion,  quiet  as 
he  was — a  passion  for  reforming  petty  public 
abuses.  V  He  stood  for  citizenship  —  it  was  his 


349 

hobby.  His  idea  was  that  every  citizen  of  the  re 
public  ought  to  consider  himself  an  unofficial 
policeman,  and  keep  unsalaried  watch  and  ward 
over  the  laws  and  their  execution.  He  thought 
that  the  only  effective  way  of  preserving  and  pro 
tecting  public  rights  was  for  each  citizen  to  do 
his  share  in  preventing  or  punishing  such  in 
fringements  of  them  as  came  under  his  personal 
notice. 

It  was  a  good  scheme,  but  I  thought  it  would 
keep  a  body  in  trouble  all  the  time  ;  it  seemed  to 
me  that  one  would  be  always  trying  to  get  offend 
ing  little  officials  discharged,  and  perhaps  getting 
laughed  at  for  all  reward.  But  he  said  no,  I  had 
the  wrong  idea ;  that  there  was  no  occasion  to  get 
anybody  discharged  ;  that  in  fact  you  mustnt  get 
anybody  discharged  ;  that  that  would  itself  be  a 
failure;  no,  one  must  reform  the  man — reform  him 
and  make  him  useful  where  he  was. 

"  Must  one  report  the  offender  and  then  beg  his 
superior  not  to  discharge  him,  but  reprimand  him 
and  keep  him  ?" 

"  No,  that  is  not  the  idea ;  you  don't  report  him 
at  all,  for  then  you  risk  his  bread  and  butter.  You 
can  act  as  if  you  are  going  to  report  him — when 
nothing  else  will  answer.  But  that's  an  extreme 
case.  That  is  a  sort  of  force,  and  force  is  bad. 


35° 

Diplomacy  is  the  effective  thing.  Now  if  a  man 
has  tact — if  a  man  will  exercise  diplomacy— 
""For  two  minutes  we  had  been  standing  at  a  tele 
graph  wicket,  and  during  all  this  time  the  Major 
had  been  trying  to  get  the  attention  of  one  of  the 
young  operators,  but  they  were  all  busy  skylarking. 
The  Major  spoke  now,  and  asked  one  of  them  to 
take  his  telegram.  He  got  for  reply : 

"  I  reckon  you  can  wait  a  minute,  can't  you  ?" 
and  the  skylarking  went  on. 

The   Major   said   yes,  he  was    not    in    a   hurry. 
Then  he  wrote  another  telegram  : 

"  President  Western  Union  Tel,  Co.  : 

"  Come  and  dine  with  me  this  evening.     I  can  tell  you 
how  business  is  conducted  in  one  of  your  branches." 

Presently  the  young  fellow  who  had  spoken  so 
pertly  a  little  before  reached  out  and  took  the  tele 
gram,  and  when  he  read  it  he  lost  color  and  began 
to  apologize  and  explain.  He  said  he  would  lose 
his  place  if  this  deadly  telegram  was  sent,  and  he 
might  never  get  another.  If  he  could  be  let  off 
this  time  he  would  give  no  cause  of  complaint 
again.  The  compromise  was  accepted. 
As  we  walked  away,  the  Major  said  : 
"  Now,  you  see,  that  was  diplomacy — and  you 
see  how  it  worked.  It  wouldn't  do  any  good  to 


bluster,  the  way  people  are  always  doing  —  that  boy 
can  always  give  you  as  good  as  you  send,  and  you'll 
come  out  defeated  and  ashamed  of  yourself  pretty 
nearly  always.  But  you  see  he  stands  no  chance 
against  diplomacy.  Gentle  words  and  diplomacy— 
those  are  the  tools  to  work  with." 

"  Yes,  I  see  ;  but  everybody  wouldn't  have  had 
your  opportunity.  It  isn't  everybody  that  is  on 
those  familiar  terms  with  the  president  of  the 
Western  Union." 

"  Oh,  you  misunderstand.  I  don't  know  the 
president — I  only  use  him  diplomatically.  It  is  for 
his  good  and  for  the  public  good.  There's  no 
harm  in  it." 

I  said,  with  hesitation  and  diffidence  : 
"  But  is  it  ever  right  or  noble  to  tell  a  lie?" 
He  took  no  note  of  the  delicate  self-righteous 
ness   of   the    question,  but    answered,  with    undis 
turbed  gravity  and  simplicity : 

"  Yes,  sometimes.  Lies  told  to  injure  a  person 
and  lies  told  to  profit  yourself  are  not  justifiable, 
but  lies  told  to  help  another  person,  and  lies  told 
in  the  public  interest — oh,  well,  that  is  quite  an 
other  matter.  Anybody  knows  that.  But  never 
mind  about  the  methods  :  you  see  the  result.  That 
youth  is  going  to  be  useful  now,  and  well-behaved. 
He  had  a  good  face.  He  was  worth  saving.  Why, 


352 

he  was  worth  saving  on  his  mother's  account  if  not 
his  own.  Of  course,  he  has  a  mother — sisters,  too. 
Damn  these  people  who  are  always  forgetting  that ! 
Do  you  know,  I've  never  fought  a  duel  in  my  life 
— never  once — and  yet  have  been  challenged,  like 
other  people.  I  could  always  see  the  other  man's 
unoffending  women  folks  or  his  little  children  stand 
ing  between  him  and  me.  They  hadn't  done  any 
thing — I  couldn't  break  their  hearts  you  know." 

He  corrected  a  good  many  little  abuses  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  and  always  without  friction— 
always  with  a  fine  and  dainty  "  diplomacy  "  which 
left  no  sting  behind ;  and  he  got  such  happiness 
and  such  contentment  out  of  these  performances 
that  I  was  obliged  to  envy  him  his  trade-\-and 
perhaps  would  have  adopted  it  if  I  could  have 
managed  the  necessary  deflections  from  fact  as 
confidently  with  my  mouth  as  I  believe  I  could 
with  a  pen,  behind  the  shelter  of  print,  after  a  little 
practice.  ) 

Away^late  that  night  we  were  coming  up-town 
in  a  horse-car  when  three  boisterous  roughs  got 
aboard,  and  began  to  fling  hilarious  obscenities  and 
profanities  right  and  left  among  the  timid  passen 
gers,  some  of  whom  were  women  and  children. 
Nobody  resisted  or  retorted  ;  the  conductor  tried 
soothing  words  and  moral  suasion,  but  the  roughs 


353 

only  called  him  names  and  laughed  at  him.  Very 
soon  I  saw  that  the  Major  realized  that  this  was  a 
matter  which  was  in  his  line ;  evidently  he  was 
turning  over  his  stock  of  diplomacy  in  his  mind 
and  getting  ready.  I  felt  that  the  first  diplomatic 
remark  he  made  in  this  place  would  bring  down 
a  landslide  of  ridicule  upon  him,  and  maybe  some 
thing  worse ;  but  before  I  could  whisper  to  him 
and  check  him  he  had  begun,  and  it  was  too  late. 
He  said,  in  a  level  and  dispassionate  tone : 

"  Conductor,  you  must  put  these  swine  out.  I 
will  help  you." 

I  was  not  looking  for  that.  In  a  flash  the  three 
roughs  plunged  at  him.  But  none  of  them  arrived. 
He  delivered  three  such  blows  as  one  could  not 
expect  to  encounter  outside  the  prize-ring,  and 
neither  of  the  men  had  life  enough  left  in  him  to 
get  up  from  where  he  fell.  The  Major  dragged 
them  out  and  threw  them  off  the  car,  and  we  got 
under  way  again. 

I  was  astonished ;  astonished  to  see  a  lamb  act 
so ;  astonished  at  the  strength  displayed,  and  the 
clean  and  comprehensive  result ;  astonished  at  the 
brisk  and  business-like  style  of  the  whole  thing. 
The  situation  had  a  humorous  side  to  it,  consider 
ing  how  much  I  had  been  hearing  about  mild  per 
suasion  and  gentle  diplomacy  all  day  from  this 
23 


354 

pile-driver,  and  I  would  have  liked  to  call  his  atten 
tion  to  that  feature  and  do  some  sarcasms  about 
it ;  but  when  I  looked  at  him  I  saw  that  it  would 
be  of  no  use — his  placid  and  contented  face  had  no 
ray  of  humor  in  it;  he  would  not  have  understood. 
When  we  left  the  car,  I  said  : 

"  That  was  a  good  stroke  of  diplomacy  —  three 
good  strokes  of  diplomacy,  in  fact." 

"  That  ?  That  wasn't  diplomacy.  You  are  quite 
in  the  wrong.  Diplomacy  is  a  wholly  different 
thing.  One  cannot  apply  it  to  that  sort,  they 
would  not  understand  it.  No,  that  was  not  diplo 
macy  ;  it  was  force." 

"  Now  that  you  mention  it,  I — yes,  I  think  per 
haps  you  are  right." 

"Right?  Of  course  I  am  right.  It  was  just 
force." 

"  I  think,  myself,  it  had  the  outside  aspect  of  it. 
Do  you  often  have  to  reform  people  in  that  way  ?" 

"  Far  from  it.  It  hardly  ever  happens.  Not 
oftener  than  once  in  half  a  year,  at  the  outside." 

"Those  men  will  get  well  ?  " 

"Get  well?  Why  certainly  they  will.  They 
are  not  in  any  danger.  I  know  how  to  hit  and 
where  to  hit.  You  noticed  that  I  did  not  hit  them 
under  the  jaw.  That  would  have  killed  them." 

I  believed  that.    I  remarked — rather  wittily,  as  I 


355 

thought — that  he  had  been  a  lamb  all  day,  but  now 
had  all  of  a  sudden  developed  into  a  ram — batter 
ing-ram  ;  but  with  dulcet  frankness  and  simplicity 
he  said  no,  a  battering-ram  was  quite  a  different 
thing  and  not  in  use  now.  This  was  maddening, 
and  I  came  near  bursting  out  and  saying  he  had  no 
more  appreciation  of  wit  than  a  jackass — in  fact,  I 
had  it  right  on  my  tongue,  but  did  not  say  it, 
knowing  there  was  no  hurry  and  I  could  say  it  just 
as  well  some  other  time  over  the  telephone. 

We  started  to  Boston  the  next  afternoon.  The 
smoking- compartment  in  the  parlor- car  was  full, 
and  we  went  into  the  regular  smoker.  Across  the 
aisle  in  the  front  seat  sat  a  meek,  farmer-looking 
old  man  with  a  sickly  pallor  in  his  face,  and  he  was 
holding  the  door  open  with  his  foot  to  get  the  air. 
Presently  a  big  brakeman  came  rushing  through, 
and  when  he  got  to  the  door  he  stopped,  gave  the 
farmer  an  ugly  scowl,  then  wrenched  the  door  to 
with  such  energy  as  to  almost  snatch  the  old  man's 
boot  off.  Then  on  he  plunged  about  his  business. 
Several  passengers  laughed,  and  the  old  gentleman 
looked  pathetically  pained  and  grieved. 

After  a  little  the  conductor  passed  along,  and 
the  Major  stopped  him  and  asked  him  a  question 
in  his  habitually  courteous  way : 

"  Conductor,  where    does    one    report    the  mis- 


356 

conduct    of    a   brakeman  ?     Does    one    report    to 
you  ?" 

"  You  can  report  him  at  New  Haven  if  you  want 
to.  What  has  he  been  doing?" 

The  Major  told  the  story.  The  conductor 
seemed  amused.  He  said,  with  just  a  touch  of 
sarcasm  in  his  bland  tones : 

"  As  I  understand  you,  the  brakeman  didn't  say 
anything." 

"  No,  he  didn't  say  anything." 

"  But  he  scowled,  you  say." 

"  Yes." 

"And  snatched  the  door  loose  in  a  rough  way." 

"Yes." 

"  That's  the  whole  business,  is  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  whole  of  it." 

The  conductor  smiled  pleasantly,  and  said  : 

"  Well,  if  you  want  to  report  him,  all  right,  but  I 
don't  quite  make  out  what  it's  going  to  amount  to. 
You'll  say — as  I  understand  you — that  the  brake 
man  insulted  this  old  gentleman.  They'll  ask  you 
what  he  said.  You'll  say  he  didn't  say  anything  at 
all.  I  reckon  they'll  say,  how  are  you  going  to 
make  out  an  insult  when  you  acknowledge  your 
self  that  he  didn't  say  a  word." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  applause  at  the  conduc 
tor's  compact  reasoning,  and  it  gave  him  pleasure — 


357 

you  could  see  it  in  his  face.  But  the  Major  was 
not  disturbed.  He  said  : 

"  There  —  now  you  have  touched  upon  a  crying 
defect  in  the  complaint-system.  The  railway  offi 
cials — as  the  public  think  and  as  you  also  seem  to 
think — are  not  aware  that  there  are  any  kind  of 
insults  except  spoken  ones.  So  nobody  goes  to 
headquarters  and  reports  insults  of  manner,  insults 
of  gesture,  look,  and  so  forth  ;  and  yet  these  are 
sometimes  harder  to  bear  than  any  words.  They 
are  bitter  hard  to  bear  because  there  is  nothing 
tangible  to  take  hold  of;  and  the  insulter  can 
always  say,  if  called  before  the  railway  officials, 
that  he  never  dreamed  of  intending  any  offence. 
It  seems  to  me  that  the  officials  ought  to  specially 
and  urgently  request  the  public  to  report  unworded 
affronts  and  incivilities." 

The  conductor  laughed,  and  said: 

"  Well,  that  would  be  trimming  it  pretty  fine, 
sure !" 

"  But  not  too  fine,  I  think.  I  will  report  this 
matter  at  New  Haven,  and  I  have  an  idea  that  I'll 
be  thanked  for  it." 

The  conductor's  face  lost  something  of  its 
complacency ;  in  fact,  it  settled  to  a  quite  so 
ber  cast  as  the  owner  of  it  moved  away.  I 
said  : 


358 


"  You  are  not  really  going  to  bother  with  that 
trifle,  are  you?" 

"  It  isn't  a  trifle.  Such  things  ought  always  to 
be  reported.  It  is  a  public  duty,  and  no  citizen 
has  a  right  to  shirk  it.  But  I  sha'n't  have  to  report 
this  case." 

"Why?" 

"  It  won't  be  necessary.  Diplomacy  will  do  the 
business.  You'll  see." 

Presently  the  conductor  came  on  his  rounds 
again,  and  when  he  reached  the  Major  he  leaned 
over  and  said : 

"  That's  all  right.  You  needn't  report  him.  He's 
responsible  to  me,  and  if  he  does  it  again  I'll  give 
him  a  talking  to." 

The  Major's  response  was  cordial  : 

"  Now  that  is  what  I  like !  You  mustn't  think 
that  I  was  moved  by  any  vengeful  spirit,  for  that 
wasn't  the  case.  It  was  duty — just  a  sense  of  duty, 
that  was  all.  My  brother-in-law  is  one  of  the  di 
rectors  of  the  road,  and  when  he  learns  that  you 
are  going  to  reason  with  your  brakeman  the  very 
next  time  he  brutally  insults  an  unoffending  old 
man  it  will  please  him,  you  may  be  sure  of 
that." 

The  conductor  did  not  look  as  joyous  as  one 
might  have  thought  he  would,  but  on  the  contrary 


359 

looked  sickly  and  uncomfortable.  He  stood  around 
a  little  ;  then  said  : 

"/  think  something  ought  to  be  done  to  him 
now.  I'll  discharge  him." 

"  Discharge  him  ?  What  good  would  that  do  ? 
Don't  you  think  it  would  be  better  wisdom  to 
teach  him  better  ways  and  keep  him?" 

"  Well,  there's  something  in  that.  What  would 
you  suggest?" 

"  He  insulted  the  old  gentleman  in  presence  of 
all  these  people.  How  would  it  do  to  have  him 
come  and  apologize  in  their  presence?" 

"  I'll  have  him  here  right  off.  And  I  want  to 
say  this:  If  people  would  do  as  you've  done,  and 
report  such  things  to  me  instead  of  keeping  mum 
and  going  off  and  blackguarding  the  road,  you'd 
see  a  different  state  of  things  pretty  soon.  I'm 
much  obliged  to  you." 

The  brakeman  came  and  apologized.  After  he 
was  gone  the  Major  said  : 

"  Now,  you  see  how  simple  and  easy  that  was. 
The  ordinary  citizen  would  have  accomplished 
nothing — the  brother-in-law  of  a  director  can  ac 
complish  anything  he  wants  to." 

"But  are  you  really  the  brother-in-law  of  a 
director  ?" 

"  Always.     Always  when  the  public  interests  re- 


360 

quire  it.  I  have  a  brother-in-law  on  all  the 
boards  —  everywhere.  It  saves  me  a  world  of 
trouble." 

"  It  is  a  good  wide  relationship." 

"Yes.     I  have  over  three  hundred  of  them." 

"  Is  the  relationship  never  doubted  by  a  con 
ductor?" 

"  I  have  never  met  with  a  case.  It  is  the  honest 
truth — I  never  have." 

"  Why  didn't  you  let  him  go  ahead  and  discharge 
the  brakeman,  in  spite  of  your  favorite  policy  ? 
You  know  he  deserved  it." 

The  Major  answered  with  something  which 
really  had  a  sort  of  distant  resemblance  to  impa 
tience  : 

"  If  you  would  stop  and  think  a  moment  you 
wouldn't  ask  such  a  question  as  that.  Is  a  brake 
man  a  dog,  that  nothing  but  a  dog's  methods  will 
do  for  him?  He  is  a  man,  and  has  a  man's  fight 
for  life.  And  he  always  has  a  sister,  or  a  mother, 
or  wife  and  children  to  support.  Always — there 
are  no  exceptions.  When  you  take  his  living  away 
from  him  you  take  theirs  away  too — and  what  have 
they  done  to  you  ?  Nothing.  And  where  is  the 
profit  in  discharging  an  uncourteous  brakeman  and 
hiring  another  just  like  him?  It's  unwisdom. 
Don't  you  see  that  the  rational  thing  to  do  is  to 


reform  the  brakeman  and   keep  him?     Of  course 
it  is." 

Then  he  quoted  with  admiration  the  conduct  of 
a  certain  division  superintendent  of  the  Consoli 
dated  road,  in  a  case  where  a  switchman  of  two 
years'  experience  was  negligent  once  and  threw  a 
train  off  the  track  and  killed  several  people.  Citi 
zens  came  in  a  passion  to  urge  the  man's  dismissal, 
but  the  superintendent  said  : 

"  No,  you  are  wrong.  He  has  learned  his  lesson, 
he  will  throw  no  more  trains  off  the  track.  He  is 
twice  as  valuable  as  he  was  before.  I  shall  keep 
him." 

We  had  only  one  more  adventure  on  the  trip. 
Between  Hartford  and  Springfield  the  train-boy 
came  shouting  in  with  an  armful  of  literature  and 
dropped  a  sample  into  a  slumbering  gentleman's 
lap,  and  the  man  woke  up  with  a  start.  He  was 
very  angry,  and  he  and  a  couple  of  friends  dis 
cussed  the  outrage  with  much  heat.  They  sent  for 
the  parlor-car  conductor  and  described  the  matter, 
and  were  determined  to  have  the  boy  expelled 
from  his  situation.  The  three  complainants  were 
wealthy  Holyoke  merchants,  and  it  was  evident 
that  the  conductor  stood  in  some  awe  of  them. 
He  tried  to  pacify  them,  and  explained  that  the 
boy  was  not  under  his  authority,  but  under  that  of 


362 

one  of  the  news  companies ;  but  he  accomplished 
nothing. 

Then  the  Major  volunteered  some  testimony  for 
the  defence.  He  said  : 

"  I  saw  it  all.  You  gentlemen  have  not  meant 
to  exaggerate  the  circumstances,  but  still  that  is 
what  you  have  done.  The  boy  has  done  nothing 
more  than  all  train-boys  do.  If  you  want  to  get 
his  ways  softened  down  and  his  manners  reformed, 
I  am  with  you  and  ready  to  help,  but  it  isn't  fair  to 
get  him  discharged  without  giving  him  a  chance." 

But  they  were  angry,  and  would  hear  of  no  com 
promise.  They  were  well  acquainted  with  the  pres 
ident  of  the  Boston  &  Albany,  they  said,  and  would 
put  everything  aside  next  day  and  go  up  to  Boston 
and  fix  that  boy. 

The  Major  said  he  would  be  on  hand  too,  and 
would  do  what  he  could  to  save  the  boy.  One  of 
the  gentlemen  looked  him  over,  and  said  : 

"  Apparently  it  is  going  to  be  a  matter  of  who 
can  wield  the  most  influence  with  the  president. 
Do  you  know  Mr.  Bliss  personally?" 

The  Major  said,  with  composure : 

"  Yes;  he  is  my  uncle." 

The  effect  was  satisfactory.  There  was  an  awk 
ward  silence  for  a  minute  or  more ;  then  the  hedg 
ing  and  the  half-confessions  of  over-haste  and  ex- 


363 

aggerated  resentment  began,  and  soon  everything 
was  smooth  and  friendly  and  sociable,  and  it  was 
resolved  to  drop  the  matter  and  leave  the  boy's 
bread  and  butter  unmolested. 

It  turned  out  as  I  had  expected  :  the  president 
of  the  road  was  not  the  Major's  uncle  at  all — ex 
cept  by  adoption,  and  for  this  day  and  train 
only. 

We  got  into  no  episodes  on  the  return  journey. 
Probably  it  was  because  we  took  a  night  train  and 
slept  all  the  way. 

We  left  New  York  Saturday  night  by  the  Penn 
sylvania  road.  After  breakfast  the  next  morning 
we  went  into  the  parlor-car,  but  found  it  a  dull 
place  and  dreary.  There  were  but  few  people  in 
it  and  nothing  going  on.  Then  we  went  into  the 
little  smoking-compartment  of  the  same  car  and 
found  three  gentlemen  in  there.  Two  of  them 
were  grumbling  over  one  of  the  rules  of  the  road 
— a  rule  which  forbade  card-playing  on  the  trains 
on  Sunday.  They  had  started  an  innocent  game 
of  high-low-jack  and  been  stopped.  The  Major 
was  interested.  He  said  to  the  third  gentleman : 

"  Did  you  object  to  the  game?" 

"  Not  at  all.  I  am  a  Yale  professor  and  a  re 
ligious  man,  but  my  prejudices  are  not  extensive." 

Then  the  Major  said  to  the  others : 


364 


"  You  are  at  perfect  liberty  to  resume  your  game, 
gentlemen  ;  no  one  here  objects." 

One  of  them  declined  the  risk,  but  the  other  one 
said  he  would  like  to  begin  again  if  the  Major  would 
join  him.  So  they  spread  an  overcoat  over  their 
knees  and  the  game  proceeded.  Pretty  soon  the 
parlor-car  conductor  arrived,  and  said,  brusquely : 

"  There,  there,  gentlemen,  that  won't  do.  Put 
up  the  cards — it's  not  allowed." 

The  Major  was  shuffling.  He  continued  to 
shuffle,  and  said  : 

"  By  whose  order  is  it  forbidden  ?" 

"  It's  my  order.     I  forbid  it." 

The  dealing  began.     The  Major  asked  : 

"  Did  you  invent  the  idea?" 

"What  idea?" 

"  The  idea  of  forbidding  card-playing  on  Sunday. " 

"  No — of  course  not." 

"  Who  did?" 

"  The  company." 

"Then  it  isn't  your  order,  after  all,  but  the  com 
pany's.  Is  that  it  ?" 

"  Yes.  But  you  don't  stop  playing ;  I  have  to 
require  you  to  stop  playing  immediately." 

"  Nothing  is  gained  by  hurry,  and  often  much  is 
lost.  Who  authorized  the  company  to  issue  such 
an  order?" 


36$ 

14  My  dear  sir,  that  is  a  matter  of  no  consequence 
to  me,  and— 

"  But  you  forget  that  you  are  the  only  person 
concerned.  It  may  be  a  matter  of  consequence  to 
me.  It  is,  indeed,  a  matter  of  very  great  impor 
tance  to  me.  I  cannot  violate  a  legal  requirement 
of  my  country  without  dishonoring  myself ;  I  can 
not  allow  any  man  or  corporation  to  hamper  my 
liberties  with  illegal  rules — a  thing  which  railway 
companies  are  always  trying  to  do — without  dis 
honoring  my  citizenship.  So  I  come  back  to  that 
question :  By  whose  authority  has  the  company 
issued  this  order?" 

"  I  don't  know.     That's  their  affair." 

"  Mine,  too.  I  doubt  if  the  company  has  any 
right  to  issue  such  a  rule.  This  road  runs  through 
several  States.  Do  you  know  what  State  we  are 
in  now,  and  what  its  laws  are  in  matters  of  this 
kind?" 

"  Its  laws  do  not  concern  me,  but  the  company's 
orders  do.  It  is  my  duty  to  stop  this  game,  gen 
tlemen,  and  it  must  be  stopped." 

"  Possibly  ;  but  still  there  is  no  hurry.  In  hotels 
they  post  certain  rules  in  the  rooms,  but  they 
always  quote  passages  from  the  State  law  as 
authority  for  these  requirements.  I  see  nothing 
posted  here  of  this  sort.  Please  produce  your 


366 

authority  and  let  us  arrive  at  a  decision,  for  you 
see  yourself  that  you  are  marring  the  game." 

u  I  have  nothing  of  the  kind,  but  I  have  my 
orders,  and  that  is  sufficient.  They  must  be 
obeyed." 

"  Let  us  not  jump  to  conclusions.  It  will  be 
better  all  around  to  examine  into  the  matter  with 
out  heat  or  haste,  and  see  just  where  we  stand  be 
fore  either  of  us  makes  a  mistake — for  the  curtail 
ing  of  the  liberties  of  a  citizen  of  the  United 
States  is  a  much  more  serious  matter  than  you 
and  the  railroads  seem  to  think,  and  it  cannot  be 
done  in  my  person  until  the  curtailer  proves  his 
right  to  do  so.  Now — " 

"  My  dear  sir,  will yo\\  put  down  those  cards?" 

"All  in  good  time,  perhaps.  It  depends.  You 
say  this  order  must  be  obeyed.  Must.  It  is  a 
strong  word.  You  see  yourself  how  strong  it  is. 
A  wise  company  would  not  arm  you  with  so  drastic 
an  order  as  this,  of  course,  without  appointing  a 
penalty  for  its  infringement.  Otherwise  it  runs 
the  risk  of  being  a  dead  letter  and  a  thing  to  laugh 
at.  What  is  the  appointed  penalty  for  an  infringe 
ment  of  this  law?" 

"  Penalty?     I  never  heard  of  any." 

"  Unquestionably  you  must  be  mistaken.  Your 
company  orders  you  to  come  here  and  rudely  break 


367 

up  an  innocent  amusement,  and  furnishes  you  no 
way  to  enforce  the  order?  Don't  you  see  that  that 
is  nonsense  ?  What  do  you  do  when  people  refuse 
to  obey  this  order?  Do  you  take  the  cards  away 
from  them  ?" 

"No." 

"  Do  you  put  the  offender  off  at  the  next  station?" 

"  Well,  no — of  course  we  couldn't  if  he  had  a 
ticket." 

"  Do  you  have  him  up  before  a  court  ?" 

The  conductor  was  silent  and  apparently  troub 
led.  The  Major  started  a  new  deal,  and  said : 

"You  see  that  you  are  helpless,  and  that  the 
company  has  placed  you  in  a  foolish  position. 
You  are  furnished  with  an  arrogant  order,  and  you 
deliver  it  in  a  blustering  way,  and  when  you  come 
to  look  into  the  matter  you  find  you  haven't  any 
way  of  enforcing  obedience." 

The  conductor  said,  with  chill  dignity : 

"  Gentlemen,  you  have  heard  the  order,  and  my 
duty  is  ended.  As  to  obeying  it  or  not,  you  will 
do  as  you  think  fit."  And  he  turned  to  leave. 

"  But  wait.  The  matter  is  not  yet  finished.  I 
think  you  are  mistaken  about  your  duty  being 
ended  ;  but  if  it  really  is,  I  myself  have  a  duty  to 
perform  yet." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ? 


368 

"Are  you  going  to  report  my  disobedience  at 
headquarters  in  Pittsburg?" 

"  No.     What  good  would  that  do?" 

"  You  must  report  me,  or  I  will  report  you." 

"  Report  me  for  what  ?" 

"  For  disobeying  the  company's  orders  in  not 
stopping  this  game.  As  a  citizen  it  is  my  duty  to 
help  the  railway  companies  keep  their  servants  to 
their  work." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  in  earnest.  I  have  nothing  against 
you  as  a  man,  but  I  have  this  against  you  as  an 
officer — that  you  have  not  carried  out  that  order, 
and  if  you  don't  report  me  I  must  report  you. 
And  I  will." 

The  conductor  looked  puzzled,  and  was  thought 
ful  a  moment ;  then  he  burst  out  with : 

"  I  seem  to  be  getting  myself  mio  a  scrape  !  It's 
all  a  muddle ;  I  can't  make  head  or  tail  of  it ;  it's 
never  happened  before  ;  they  always  knocked 
under  and  never  said  a  word,  and  so  /  never  saw 
how  ridiculous  that  stupid  order  with  no  penalty 
is.  7  don't  want  to  report  anybody,  and  I  don't 
want  to  be  reported — why,  it  might  do  me  no  end 
of  harm.  Now  do  go  on  with  the  game — play  the 
whole  day  if  you  want  to — and  don't  let's  have  any 
more  trouble  about  it!" 


369 

"  No,  I  only  sat  down  here  to  establish  this  gen 
tleman's  rights — he  can  have  his  place  now/^  But 
before  you  go  won't  you  tell  me  what  you  think 
the  company  made  this  rule  for?  Can  you  imagine 
an  excuse  for  it  ?  I  mean  a  rational  one — an  ex 
cuse  that  is  not  on  its  face  silly,  and  the  invention 
of  an  idiot  ?" 

"  Well,  surely  I  can.  The  reason  it  was  made  is 
plain  enough.  It  is  to  save  the  feelings  of  the 
other  passengers — the  religious  ones  among  them, 
I  mean.  They  would  not  like  it,  to  have  the  Sab 
bath  desecrated  by  card-playing  on  the  train." 

"  I  just  thought  as  much.  They  are  willing  to 
desecrate  it  themselves  by  travelling  on  Sunday, 
but  they  are  not  willing  that  other  people — 

"  By  gracious,  you've  hit  it !  I  never  thought  of 
that  before.  The  fact  is,  it  is  a  silly  rule  when  you 
come  to  look  into  it." 

At  this  point  the  train -conductor  arrived,  and 
was  going  to  shut  down  the  game  in  a  very  high 
handed  fashion,  but  the  parlor-car  conductor  stop 
ped  him,  and  took  him  aside  to  explain.  Nothing 
more  was  heard  of  the  matter. 

I  was  ill  in  bed  eleven  days  in  Chicago,  and  got 

no  glimpse  of  the  Fair,  for  I  was  obliged  to  return 

East  as  soon  as  I  was  able  to  travel.     The  Major 

secured  and  paid  for  a  state-room  in  a  sleeper  the 

24 


37Q 

day  before  we  left,  so  that  I  could  have  plenty  of 
room  and  be  comfortable ;  but  when  we  arrived  at 
the  station  a  mistake  had  been  made  and  our  car 
had  not  been  put  on.  The  conductor  had  reserved 
a  section  for  us — it  was  the  best  he  could  do,  he 
said.  But  the  Major  said  we  were  not  in  a  hurry, 
and  would  wait  for  the  car  to  be  put  on.  The  con 
ductor  responded,  with  pleasant  irony : 

"  It  may  be  that  you  are  not  in  a  hurry,  just  as 
you  say,  but  we  are.  Come,  get  aboard,  gentle 
men,  get  aboard — don't  keep  us  waiting." 

But  the  Major  would  not  get  aboard  himself  nor 
allow  me  to  do  it.  He  wanted  his  car,  and  said 
he  must  have  it.  This  made  the  hurried  and  per 
spiring  conductor  impatient,  and  he  said : 

"  It's  the  best  we  can  do — we  can't  do  impossi 
bilities.  You  will  take  the  section  or  go  without. 
A  mistake  has  been  made  and  can't  be  rectified 
at  this  late  hour.  It's  a  thing  that  happens  now 
and  then,  and  there  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  put 
up  with  it  and  make  the  best  of  it.  Other  people 
do." 

Ah,  that  is  just  it,  you  see.  If  they  had  stuck 
to  their  rights  and  enforced  them  you  wouldn't  be 
trying  to  trample  mine  underfoot  in  this  bland 
way  now.  I  haven't  any  disposition  to  give  you 
unnecessary  trouble,  but  it  is  my  duty  to  protect 


37i 

the  next  man  from  this  kind  of  imposition.  So  I 
must  have  my  car.  Otherwise  I  will  wait  in  Chi 
cago  and  sue  the  company  for  violating  its  con 
tract." 

"  Sue  the  company? — for  a  thing  like  that !" 

"  Certainly." 

"  Do  you  really  mean  that  ? 

"  Indeed  I  do." 

The  conductor  looked  the  Major  over  wonder- 
ingly,  and  then  said: 

"  It  beats  me — it's  bran-new — I've  never  struck 
the  mate  to  it  before.  But  I  swear  I  think  you'd 
do  it.  Look  here,  I'll  send  for  the  station-master." 

When  the  station-master  came  he  was  a  good  deal 
annoyed — at  the  Major,  not  at  the  person  who  had 
made  the  mistake.  He  was  rather  brusque,  and 
took  the  same  position  which  the  conductor  had 
taken  in  the  beginning ;  but  he  failed  to  move  the 
soft-spoken  artilleryman,  who  still  insisted  that  he 
must  have  his  car.  However,  it  was  plain  that  there 
was  only  one  strong  side  in  this  case,  and  that  that 
side  was  the  Major's.  The  station-master  banished 
his  annoyed  manner,  and  became  pleasant  and  even 
half-apologetic.  This  made  a  good  opening  for  a 
compromise,  and  the  Major  made  a  concession.  He 
said  he  would  give  up  the  engaged  state-room,  but 
he  must  have  a  state-room.  After  a  deal  of  ran- 


373 

sacking,  one  was  found  whose  owner  was  persuad 
able  ;  he  exchanged  it  for  our  section,  and  we  got 
away  at  last.  The  conductor  called  on  us  in  the 
evening,  and  was  kind  and  courteous  and  obliging, 
and  we  had  a  long  talk  and  got  to  be  good  friends. 
He  said  he  wished  the  public  would  make  trouble 
oftener — it  would  have  a  good  effect.  He  said  that 
the  railroads  could  not  be  expected  to  do  their 
whole  duty  by  the  traveller  unless  the  traveller 
would  take  some  interest  in  the  matter  himself. 

I  hoped  that  we  were  done  reforming  for  the  trip 
now,  but  it  was  not  so.  In  the  hotel-car,  in  the 
morning,  the  Major  called  for  broiled  chicken.  The 
waiter  said  : 

It's  not  in  the  bill  of  fare,  sir ;  we  do  not  serve 
anything  but  what  is  in  the  bill." 

"  That  gentleman  yonder  is  eating  a  broiled 
chicken." 

"  Yes,  but  that  is  different.  He  is  one  of  the 
superintendents  of  the  road." 

"  Then  all  the  more  must  I  have  broiled  chicken. 
I  do  not  like  these  discriminations.  Please  hurry 
— bring  me  a  broiled  chicken." 

The  waiter  brought  the  steward,  who  explained 
in  a  low  and  polite  voice  that  the  thing  was  impos 
sible — it  was  against  the  rule,  and  the  rule  was 
rigid. 


373 

"  Very  well,  then,  you  must  either  apply  it  im 
partially  or  break  it  impartially.  You  must  take 
that  gentleman's  chicken  away  from  him  or  bring 
me  one." 

The  steward  was  puzzled,  and  did  not  quite  know 
what  to  do.  He  began  an  incrherent  argument, 
but  the  conductor  came  along  just  then,  and  asked 
what  the  difficulty  was.  The  steward  explained 
that  here  was  a  gentleman  who  was  insisting  on 
having  a  chicken  when  it  was  dead  against  the  rule 
and  not  in  the  bill.  The  conductor  said: 

"  Stick  by  your  rules — you  haven't  any  option. 
Wait  a  moment — is  this  the  gentleman  ?"  Then  he 
laughed  and  said  :  "  Never  mind  your  rules — it's 
my  advice,  and  sound  ;  give  him  anything  he  wants 
— don't  get  him  started  on  his  rights.  Give  him 
whatever  he  asks  for ;  and  if  you  havefa't  got  it, 
stop  the  train  and  get  it." 

The  Major  ate  the  chicken,  but  said  he  did  it 
from  a  sense  of  duty  and  to  establish  a  principle, 
for  he  did  not  like  chicken. 

I  missed  the  Fair  it  is  true,  but  I  picked  up  some 
diplomatic  tricks  which  I  and  the  reader  may  find 
handy  and  useful  as  we  go  along. 


PRIVATE    HISTORY    OF    THE    "JUMP 
ING   FROG"   STORY 

FIVE  or  six  years  ago  a  lady  from  Finland  asked 
me  to  tell  her  a  story  in  our  negro  dialect,  so 
that  she  could  get  an  idea  of  what  that  variety 
of  speech  was  like.  I  told  her  one  of  Hopkinson 
Smith's  negro  stories,  and  gave  her  a  copy  of 
Harper  s  Monthly  containing  it.  She  translated  it 
for  a  Swedish  newspaper,  but  by  an  oversight 
named  me  as  the  author  of  it  instead  of  Smith.  I 
was  very  sorry  for  that,  because  I  got  a  good,  lash 
ing  in  the  Swedish  press,  which  would  have  fallen 
to  his  share  but  for  that  mistake ;  for  it  was  shown 
that  Boccaccio  had  told  that  very  story,  in  his  curt 
and  meagre  fashion,  five  hundred  years  before 
Smith  took  hold  of  it  and  made  a  good  and  tell 
able  thing  out  of  it. 

I  have  always  been  sorry  for  Smith.  But  my  own 
turn  has  come  now.  A  few  weeks  ago  Professor 
Van  Dyke,  of  Princeton,  asked  this  question : 


375 

"  Do  you  know  how  old  your  '  Jumping  Frog' 
story  is  ?" 

And  I  answered  : 

"  Yes — forty-five  years.  The  thing  happened  in 
Calaveras  County,  in  the  spring  of  1849." 

"  No. ;  it  happened  earlier — a  couple  of  thousand 
years  earlier ;  it  is  a  Greek  story." 

I  was  astonished — and  hurt.     I  said  : 

"  I  am  willing  to  be  a  literary  thief  if  it  has  been 
so  ordained  ;  I  am  even  willing  to  be  caught  robbing 
the  ancient  dead  alongside  of  Hopkinson  Smith, 
for  he  is  my  friend  and  a  good  fellow,  and  I  think 
would  be  as  honest  as  any  one  if  he  could  do  it 
without  occasioning  remark ;  but  I  am  not  willing 
to  antedate  his  crimes  by  fifteen  hundred  years.  I 
must  ask  you  to  knock  off  part  of  that." 

But  the  professor  was  not  charring;  he  was  in 
earnest,  and  could  not  abate  a  century.  He  named 
the  Greek  author,  and  offered  to  get  the  book  and 
send  it  to  me  and  the  college  text-book  containing 
the  English  translation  also.  I  thought  I  would 
like  the  translation  best,  because  Greek  makes  me 
tired.  January  3Oth  he  sent  me  the  English  ver 
sion,  and  I  will  presently  insert  it  in  this  article. 
It  is  my  "  Jumping  Frog"  tale  in  every  essential. 
It  is  not  strung  out  as  I  have  strung  it  out,  but  it 
is  all  there. 


376 

To  me  this  is  very  curious  and  interesting.  Curi 
ous  for  several  reasons.  For  instance  : 

I  heard  the  story  told  by  a  man  who  was  not 
telling  it  to  his  hearers  as  a  thing  new  to  them, 
but  as  a  thing  which  they  had  witnessed  and  would 
remember.  He  was  a  dull  person,  and  ignorant ; 
he  had  no  gift  as  a  story-teller,  and  no  invention  ; 
in  his  mouth  this  episode  was  merely  history — his 
tory  and  statistics  ;  and  the  gravest  sort  of  history, 
too  ;  he  was  entirely  serious,  for  he  was  dealing 
with  what  to  him  were  austere  facts,  and  they  in 
terested  him  solely  because  they  were  facts ;  he 
was  drawing  on  his  memory,  not  his  mind  ;  he  saw 
no  humor  in  his  tale,  neither  did  his  listeners ; 
neither  he  nor  they  ever  smiled  or  laughed ;  in  my 
time  I  have  not  attended  a  more  solemn  conference. 
To  him  and  to  his  fellow  gold-miners  there  were 
just  two  things  in  the  story  that  were  worth  con 
sidering.  One  was  the  smartness  of  its  hero,  Jim 
Smiley,  in  taking  the  stranger  in  with  a  loaded 
frog ;  and  the  other  was  Smiley's  deep  knowledge 
of  a  frog's  nature — for  he  knew  (as  the  narrator 
asserted  and  the  listeners  conceded)  that  a  frog 
likes  shot  and  is  always  ready  to  eat  it.  Those  men 
discussed  those  two  points,  and  those  only.  They 
were  hearty  in  their  admiration  of  them,  and  none 
of  the  party  was  aware  that  a  first-rate  story  had 


377 

been  told  in  a  first-rate  way,  and  that  it  was  brimful 
of  a  quality  whose  presence  they  never  suspected — 
humor. 

Now,  then,  the  interesting  question  is,  did  the 
frog  episode  happen  in  Angel's  Camp  in  the  spring 
of  '49,  as  told  in  my  hearing  that  day  in  the  fall  of 
1865?  I  am  perfectly  sure  that  it  did.  I  am  also 
sure  that  its  duplicate  happened  in  Bceotia  a  couple 
of  thousand  years  ago.  I  think  it  must  be  a  case 
of  history  actually  repeating  itself,  and  not  a  case 
of  a  good  story  floating  down  the  ages  and  surviv 
ing  because  too  good  to  be  allowed  to  perish. 

I  would  now  like  to  have  the  reader  examine  the 
Greek  story  and  the  story  told  by  the  dull  and 
solemn  Californian,  and  observe  how  exactly  alike 
they  are  in  essentials. 

[  Translation^ 

THE   ATHENIAN   AND   THE    FROG.* 

An  Athenian  once  fell  in  with  a  Boeotian  who  was  sit 
ting  by  the  roadside  looking  at  a  frog.  Seeing  the  other 
approach,  the  Boeotian  said  his  was  a  remarkable  frog, 
and  asked  if  he  would  agree  to  start  a  contest  of  frogs, 
on  condition  that  he  whose  frog  jumped  farthest  should 
receive  a  large  sum  of  money.  The  Athenian  replied  that 
he  would  if  the  other  would  fetch  him  a  frog,  for  the  lake 
was  near.  To  this  he  agreed,  and  when  he  was  gone  the 

*Sidgwick,  Greek  Prose  Composition,  page  116. 


378 


Athenian  took  the  frog,  and,  opening  its  mouth,  poured 
some  stones  into  its  stomach,  so  that  it  did  not  indeed 
seem  larger  than  before,  but  could  not  jump.  The  Boeotian 
soon  returned  with  the  other  frog,  and  the  contest  began. 
The  second  frog  first  was  pinched,  and  jumped  moderate 
ly  ;  then  they  pinched  the  Boeotian  frog.  And  he  gathered 
himself  for  a  leap,  and  used  the  utmost  effort,  but  he  could 
not  move  his  body  the  least.  So  the  Athenian  departed 
with  the  money.  When  he  was  gone  the  Boeotian,  wonder 
ing  what  was  the  matter  with  the  frog,  lifted  him  up  and 
examined  him.  And  being  turned  upsidedown,  he  opened 
his  mouth  and  vomited  out  the  stones. 

And  here  is  the  way  it  happened  in  California : 

FROM  "THE  CELEBRATED  JUMPING  FROG  OF  CALAVERAS 
COUNTY" 

Well,thish-yer  Smiley  had  rat-tarriers  and  chicken  cocks, 
and  torn  -  cats,  and  all  of  them  kind  of  things,  till  you 
couldn't  rest,  and  you  couldn't  fetch  nothing  for  him  to 
bet  on  but  he'd  match  you.  He  ketched  a  frog  one  day, 
and  took  him  home,  and  said  he  cal'lated  to  educate  him  ; 
and  so  he  never  done  nothing  for  three  months  but  set  in 
his  back  yard  and  learn  that  frog  to  jump.  And  you  bet  you 
he  did  learn  him,  too.  He'd  give  him  a  little  punch  behind, 
and  the  next  minute  you'd  see  that  frog  whirling  in  the 
air  like  a  doughnut — see  him  turn  one  summerset,  or  may 
be  a  couple  if  he  got  a  good  start,  and  come  down  flat- 
flooted  and  all  right,  like  a  cat.  He  got  him  up  so  in  the 
matter  of  ketching  flies,  and  kep'  him  in  practice  so  con 
stant,  that  he'd  nail  a  fly  every  time  as  fur  as  he  could  see 
him.  Smiley  said  all  a  frog  wanted  was  education,  and  he 
could  do  'most  anything— and  I  believe  him.  Why,  I've 
seen  him  set  Dan'l  Webster  down  here  on  this  floor — Dan'l 


379 


Webster  was  the  name  of  the  frog — and  sing  out,  "  Flies, 
Dan'l,  flies!"  and  quicker'n  you  could  wink  he'd  spring 
straight  up  and  snake  a  fly  off'n  the  counter  there,  and  flop 
down  on  the  floor  ag'in  as  solid  as  a  gob  of  mud,  and  fall 
to  scratching  the  side  of  his  head  with  his  hind  foot  as  in 
different  as  if  he  hadn't  no  idea  he'd  been  doin'  any  more'n 
any  frog  might  do.  You  never  see  a  frog  so  modest  and 
straightfor'ard  as  he  was,  for  all  he  was  so  gifted.  And 
when  it  come  to  fair  and  square  jumping  on  a  dead  level, 
he  could  get  over  more  ground  at  one  straddle  than  any 
animal  of  his  breed  you  ever  see.  Jumping  on  a  dead  level 
was  his  strong  suit,  you  understand ;  and  when  it  came  to 
that,  Smiley  would  ante  up  money  on  him  as  long  as  he 
had  a  red.  Smiley  was  monstrous  proud  of  his  frog,  and 
well  he  might  be,  for  fellers  that  had  travelled  and  been 
everywheres  all  said  he  laid  over  any  frog  that  ever  they  see. 

Well,  Smiley  kep'  the  beast  in  a  little  lattice  box,  and  he 
used  to  fetch  him  down-town  sometimes  and  lay  for  a  bet. 
One  day  a  feller— a  stranger  in  the  camp,  he  was — come 
acrost  him  with  his  box,  and  says : 

"  What  might  it  be  that  you've  got  in  the  box  ?" 

And  Smiley  says,  sorter  indifferent-like,  "  It  might  be  a 
parrot,  or  it  might  be  a  canary,  maybe,  but  it  ain't — it's 
only  just  a  frog." 

And  the  feller  took  it,  and  looked  at  it  careful,  and 
turned  it  round  this  way  and  that,  and  says,  "  H'm — so  'tis. 
Well,  what's  he  good  for?" 

"Well,"  Smiley  says,  easy  and  careless,  "he's  good 
enough  for  one  thing,  I  should  judge — he  can  outjump  any 
frog  in  Calaveras  County." 

The  feller  took  the  box  again  and  took  another  long, 
particular  look,  and  give  it  back  to  Smiley,  and  says,  very 
deliberate:  "Well,"  he  says,  "  I  don't  see  no  p'ints  about 
that  frog  that's  any  better'n  any  other  frog." 


"  Maybe  you  don't,"  Smiley  says.  "  Maybe  you  under 
stand  frogs  and  maybe  you  don't  understand  'em  ;  maybe 
you've  had  experience,  and  maybe  you  ain't  only  a  ama- 
ture,  as  it  were.  Anyways,  I've  got  my  opinion,  and  I'll 
resk  forty  dollars  that  he  can  outjump  any  frog  in  Gala- 
veras  County." 

And  the  feller  studies  a  minute,  and  then  says,  kinder  sad 
like,  "  Well,  I'm  only  a  stranger  here,  and  I  ain't  got  no 
frog,  but  if  I  had  a  frog  I'd  bet  you." 

And  then  Smiley  says  :  "  That's  all  right — that's  all  right ; 
if  you'll  hold  my  box  a  minute,  I'll  go  and  get  you  a 
frog."  And  so  the  feller  took  the  box  and  put  up  his  forty 
dollars  along  with  Smiley 's  and  set  down  to  wait. 

So  he  set  there  a  good  while  thinking  and  thinking  to 
hisself,  and  then  he  got  the  frog  out  and  prized  his  mouth 
open  and  took  a  teaspoon  and  filled  him  full  of  quail  shot — 
filled  him  pretty  near  up  to  his  chin — and  set  him  on  the 
floor.  Smiley  he  went  to  the  swamp  and  slopped  around  in 
the  mud  for  a  long  time,  and  finally  he  ketched  a  frog  and 
fetched  him  in  and  give  him  to  this  feller,  and  says: 

"Now,  if  you're  ready,  set  him  alongside  of  Dan'l,  with 
his  fore-paws  just  even  with  Dan'l's,  and  I'll  give  the  word." 
Then  he  says,  "  One — two — three— git  T'  and  him  and  the 
feller  touched  up  the  frogs  from  behind,  and  the  new  frog 
hopped  off  lively;  but  Dan'l  give  a  heave,  and  hysted  up 
his  shoulders — so — like  a  Frenchman,  but  it  warn't  no  use — 
he  couldn't  budge;  he  was  planted  as  solid  as  a  church, 
and  he  couldn't  no  more  stir  than  if  he  was  anchored  out. 
Smiley  was  a  good  deal  surprised,  and  he  was  disgusted, 
too,  but  he  didn't  have  no  idea  what  the  matter  was,  of 
course. 

The  feller  took  the  money  and  started  away ;  and  when 
he  was  going  out  at  the  door  he  sorter  jerked  his  thumb 
over  his  shoulder — so — at  Dan'l,  and  says  again,  very  de- 


38 1 


liberate:  "Well,"  he  says,  "/don't  see  no  p'ints  about  that 
frog  that's  any  better'n  any  other  frog." 

Smiley  he  stood  scratching  his  head  and  looking  down  at 
Dan'l  a  long  time,  and  at  last  he  says,  "  I  do  wonder  what 
in  the  nation  that  frog  throwed  off  for — I  wonder  if  there 
ain't  something  the  matter  with  him — he  'pears  to  look 
mighty  baggy,  somehow."  And  he  ketched  Dan'l  by  the 
nape  of  the  neck,  and  hefted  him,  and  says,  "Why,  blame 
my  cats  if  he  don't  weigh  five  pound !"  and  turned  him 
upsidedown,  and  he  belched  out  a  double  handful  of  shot. 
And  then  he  see  how  it  was,  and  he  was  the  maddest  man 
—he  set  the  frog  down  and  took  out  after  that  feller,  but 
he  never  ketched  him. 

The  resemblances  are  deliciously  exact.  There 
you  have  the  wily  Boeotian  and  the  wily  Jim 
Smiley  waiting — two  thousand  years  apart  —  and 
waiting,  each  equipped  with  his  frog  and  "  laying  " 
for  the  stranger.  A  contest  is  proposed  —  for 
money.  The  Athenian  would  take  a  chance  "if  the 
other  would  fetch  him  a  frog  ";  the  Yankee  says  : 
"  I'm  only  a  stranger  here,  and  I  ain't  got  no 
frog  ;  but  if  I  had  a  frog  I'd  bet  you."  The  wily 
Bceotian  and  the  wily  Californian,  with  that  vast 
gulf  of  two  thousand  years  between,  retire  eagerly 
and  go  frogging  in  the  marsh ;  the  Athenian  and 
the  Yankee  remain  behind  and  work  a  base  advan 
tage,  the  one  with  pebbles,  the  other  with  shot. 
Presently  the  contest  began.  In  the  one  case 
"they  pinched  the  Bceotian  frog";  in  the  other, 


382 

"  him  and  the  feller  touched  up  the  frogs  from  be 
hind."  The  Boeotian  frog  "  gathered  himself  for  a 
leap  "  (you  can  just  see  him  !),  but  "  could  not  move 
his  body  in  the  least  ";  the  Californian  frog  "  give 
a  heave,  but  it  warn't  no  use — he  couldn't  budge." 
In  both  the  ancient  and  the  modern  cases  the 
strangers  departed  with  the  money.  The  Boeotian 
and  the  Californian  wonder  what  is  the  matter  with 
their  frogs  ;  they  lift  them  and  examine  ;  they  turn 
them  upsidedown  and  out  spills  the  informing 
ballast. 

Yes,  the  resemblances  are  curiously  exact.  I 
used  to  tell  the  story  of  the  "  Jumping  Frog"  in 
San  Francisco,  and  presently  Artemus  Ward  came 
along  and  wanted  it  to  help  fill  out  a  little  book 
which  he  was  about  to  publish ;  so  I  wrote  it  out 
and  sent  it  to  his  publisher,  Carleton  ;  but  Carleton 
thought  the  book  had  enough  matter  in  it,  so  he 
gave  the  story  to  Henry  Clapp  as  a  present,  and 
Clapp  put  it  in  his  Saturday  Press,  and  it  killed 
that  paper  with  a  suddenness  that  was  beyond 
praise.  At  least  the  paper  died  with  that  issue, 
and  none  but  envious  people  have  ever  tried  to 
rob  me  of  the  honor  and  credit  of  killing  it.  The 
"Jumping  Frog"  was  the  first  piece  of  writing  of 
mine  that  spread  itself  through  the  newspapers 
and  brought  me  into  public  notice.  Consequently, 


383 

the  Saturday  Press  was  a  cocoon  and  I  the  worm 
in  it ;  also,  I  was  the  gay-colored  literary  moth  which 
its  death  set  free.  This  simile  has  been  used  before. 
Early  in  '66  the  "  Jumping  Frog  "  was  issued  in 
book  form,  with  other  sketches  of  mine.  A  year 
or  two  later  Madame  Blanc  translated  it  into 
French  and  published  it  in  the  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes,  but  the  result  was  not  what  should  have 
been  expected,  for  the  Revue  struggled  along  and 
pulled  through,  and  is  alive  yet.  I  think  the  fault 
must  have  been  in  the  translation.  I  ouerht  to 

o 

have  translated  it  myself.  I  think  so  because  I 
examined  into  the  matter  and  finally  retranslated 
the  sketch  from  the  French  back  into  English,  to 
see  what  the  trouble  was ;  that  is,  to  see  just  what 
sort  of  a  focus  the  French  people  got  upon  it. 
Then  the  mystery  was  explained.  In  French  the 
story  is  too  confused  and  chaotic  and  unreposeful 
and  ungrammatical  and  insane  ;  consequently  it 
could  only  cause  grief  and  sickness — it  could  not 
kill.  A  glance  at  my  retranslation  will  show  the 
reader  that  this  must  be  true. 

[My  Retranslatzon.] 

THE   FROG  JUMPING   OF   THE   COUNTY   OF   CALAVERAS. 

Eh  bien!  this  Smiley  nourished  some  terriers  a  rats,  and 
some  cocks  of  combat,  and  some  cats,  and  all  sorts  of  things ; 


384 


and  with  his  rage  of  betting  one  no  had  more  of  repose.  He 
trapped  one  day  a  frog  and  him  imported  with  him  (et  I'em- 
porto  chez  lui)  saying  that  he  pretended  to  make  his  educa 
tion.  You  me  believe  if  you  will,  but  during  three  months 
he  not  has  nothing  done  but  to  him  apprehend  to  jump 
(apprendre  a  sauter)  in  a  court  retired  of  her  mansion  (de  sa 
maison).  And  I  you  respond  that  he  have  succeeded. 
He  him  gives  a  small  blow  by  behind,  and  the  instant  after 
you  shall  see  the  frog  turn  in  the  air  like  a  grease-biscuit, 
make  one  summersault,  sometimes  two,  when  she  was  well 
started,  and  refall  upon  his  feet  like  a  cat.  He  him  had 
accomplished  in  the  art  of  to  gobble  the  flies  (gober  des 
mouches),  and  him  there  exercised  continually  —  so  well 
that  a  fly  at  the  most  far  that  she  appeared  was  a  fly  lost. 
Smiley  had  custom  to  say  that  all  which  lacked  to  a  frog 
it  was  the  education,  but  with  the  education  she  could  do 
nearly  all— and  I  him  believe.  Tenez,  I  him  have  seen  pose 
Daniel  Webster  there  upon  this  plank — Daniel  Webster  was 
the  name  of  the  frog — and  to  him  sing,  "  Some  flies,  Daniel, 
some  flies!"— in  a  flash  of  the  eye  Daniel  had  bounded  and 
seized  a  fly  here  upon  the  counter,  then  jumped  anew  at 
the  earth,  where  he  rested  truly  to  himself  scratch  the  head 
with  his  behind-foot,  as  if  he  no  had  not  the  least  idea  of  his 
superiority.  Never  you  not  have  seen  frog  as  modest,  as 
natural,  sweet  as  she  was.  And  when  he  himself  agitated 
to  jump  purely  and  simply  upon  plain  earth,  she  does  more 
ground  in  one  jump  than  any  beast  of  his  species  than  you 
can  know. 

To  jump  plain — this  was  his  strong.  When  he  himself 
agitated  for  that  Smiley  multiplied  the  bets  upon  her  as 
long  as  there  to  him  remained  a  red.  It  must  to  know, 
Smiley  was  monstrously  proud  of  his  frog,  and  he  of  it  was 
right,  for  some  men  who  were  travelled,  who  had  all  seen, 
said  that  they  to  him  would  be  injurious  to  him  compare 


to  another  frog.     Smiley  guarded  Daniel  in  a  little  box  lat 
ticed  which  he  carried  bytimes  to  the  village  for  some  bet. 

One  day  an  individual  stranger  at  the  camp  him  arrested 
with  his  box  and  him  said  : 

"  What  is  this  that  you  have  then  shut  up  there  within  ?" 

Smiley  said,  with  an  air  indifferent : 

"  That  could  be  a  paroquet,  or  a  syringe  (pu  un  serin), 
but  this  no  is  nothing  of  such,  it  not  is  but  a  frog." 

The  individual  it  took,  it  regarded  with  care,  it  turned 
from  one  side  and  from  the  other,  then  he  said : 

Tiens!  in  effect ! — At  what  is  she  good  ?" 

"  My  God  !"  responded  Smiley,  always  with  an  air  disen 
gaged,  "  she  is  good  for  one  thing  to  my  notice  (a  mon  avis), 
she  can  batter  in  jumping  (elle  pent  batter  en  sautanf)  all 
frogs  of  the  county  of  Calaveras." 

The  individual  retook  the  box,  it  examined  of  new  longly, 
and  it  rendered  to  Smiley  in  saying  with  an  air  deliberate  : 

"Eh  bien!  I  no  saw  not  that  that  frog  had  nothing  of 
better  than  each  frog."  (Je  ne  vois  pas  que  cette grenonille 
ait  rien  de  mieux  qu  aucune grenouille).  [If  that  isn't  gram 
mar  gone  to  seed,  then  I  count  myself  no  judge. — -M.  T.] 

"  Possible  that  you  not  it  saw  not,"  said  Smiley;  "possible 
that  you — you  comprehend  frogs  ;  possible  that  you  not  you 
there  comprehend  nothing;  possible  that  you  had  of  the 
experience,  and  possible  that  you  not  be  but  an  amateur. 
Of  all  manner  (de  tonte  maniere)  I  bet  forty  dollars  that  she 
batter  in  jumping  no  matter  which  frog  of  the  county  of 
Calaveras." 

The  individual  reflected  a  second,  and  said  like  sad : 

"  I  not  am  but  a  stranger  here,  I  no  have  not  a  frog;  but 
if  I  of  it  had  one,  I  would  embrace  the  bet." 

"Strong,  well!"  respond  Smiley;   "nothing  of  more  fa 
cility.    If  you  will  hold  my  box  a  minute,  I  go  you  to  search 
a  frog  (firaivous  chercher}" 
25 


386 


Behold,  then,  the  individual  who  guards  the  box,  who 
puts  his  forty  dollars  upon  those  of  Smiley,  and  who  at 
tends  (et  qui  attendre).  He  attended  enough  longtimes,  re 
flecting  all  solely.  And  figure  you  that  he  takes  Daniel, 
him  opens  the  mouth  by  force  and  with  a  teaspoon  him 
fills  with  shot  of  the  hunt,  even  him  fills  just  to  the  chin, 
then  he  him  puts  by  the  earth.  Smiley  during  these  times 
was  at  slopping  in  a  swamp.  Finally  he  trapped  (attrape1}  a 
frog,  him  carried  to  that  individual  and  said  : 

"  Now  if  you  be  ready,  put  him  all  against  Daniel,  with 
their  before-feet  upon  the  same  line,  and  I  give  the  signal " 
— then  he  added:  "One,  two,  three — advance!" 

Him  and  the  individual  touched  their  frogs  by  behind, 
and  the  frog  new  put  to  jump  smartly,  but  Daniel  himself 
lifted  ponderously,  exhalted  the  shoulders  thus,  like  a 
Frenchman— to  what  good?  He  could  not  budge.  He  is 
planted  solid  like  a  church,  he  not  advance  no  more  than 
if  one  him  had  put  at  the  anchor. 

Smiley  was  surprised  and  disgusted,  but  he  not  himself 
doubted  not  of  the  turn  being  intended  (mats  il  ne  se  doutait 
pas  du  tour  bien  entendre).  The  individual  empocketed  the 
silver,  himself  with  it  went,  and  of  it  himself  in  going  is 
that  he  no  gives  not  a  jerk  of  thumb  over  the  shoulder — 
like  that — at  the  poor  Daniel,  in  saying  with  his  air  deliber 
ate — (L'indiindu  empoche  Vargent  sen  va  et  en  sen  allant 
est  ce  quit  ne  dotine  pas  un  coup  de  pouce  par-dessus  I'epaule, 
comme  fa,  au  pauvre  Daniel,  en  aisant  de  son  air  delibere"). 

"  Eh  bien  !  I  no  see  not  that  that  frog  has  nothing  of  better 
than  another :" 

Smiley  himself  scratched  longtimes  the  head,  the  eyes 
fixed  upon  Daniel,  until  that  which  at  last  he  said : 

"  I  me  demand  how  the  devil  it  makes  itself  that  this 
beast  has  refused.  Is  it  that  she  had  something?  One 
would  believe  that  she  is  stuffed." 


387 


He  grasped  Daniel  by  the  skin  of  the  neck,  him  lifted 
and  said  : 

"  The  wolf  me  bite  if  he  no  weigh  not  five  pounds." 
He  him  reversed  and  the  unhappy  belched  two  hand- 
fuls  of  shot  (et  le  malheitreu.r,  etc.).  When  Smiley  recog 
nized  how  it  was,  he  was  like  mad.  He  deposited  his  frog 
by  the  earth  and  ran  after  that  individual,  but  he  not  him 
caught  never. 

It  may  be  that  there  are  people  who  can  trans 
late  better  than  I  can,  but  I  am  not  acquainted 
with  them. 

So  ends  the  private  and  public  history  of  the 
Jumping  Frog  of  Calaveras  County,  an  incident 
which  has  this  unique  feature  about  it — that  it  is 
both  old  and  new,  a  "chestnut"  and  not  a  "  chest 
nut  " ;  for  it  was  original  when  it  happened  two 
thousand  years  ago,  and  was  again  original  when 
it  happened  in  California  in  our  own  time. 


MY  BOYHOOD   DREAMS 

THE  dreams  of  my  boyhood?  No,  they  have 
not  been  realized.  For  all  who  are  old,  there 
is  something  infinitely  pathetic  about  the 
subject  which  you  have  chosen,  for  in  no  gray- 
head's  case  can  it  suggest  any  but  one  thing — dis 
appointment.  Disappointment  is  its  own  reason 
for  its  pain  :  the  quality  or  dignity  of  the  hope 
that  failed  is  a  matter  aside.  The  dreamer's  valua 
tion  of  the  thing  lost — not  another  man's — is  the 
only  standard  to  measure  it  by,  and  his  grief  for  it 
makes  it  large  and  great  and  fine,  and  is  worthy  of 
our  reverence  in  all  cases.  We  should  carefully  re 
member  that.  There  are  sixteen  hundred  millioi) 
people  in  the  world.  Of  these  there  is  but  a  trifling 
number— in  fact,  only  thirty-eight  millions  —  who 
can  understand  why  a  person  should  have  an  am 
bition  to  belong  to  the  French  army ;  and  why, 
belonging  to  it,  he  should  be  proud  of  that ;  and 
why,  having  got  down  that  far,  he  should  want  to 
go  on  down,  down,  down  till  he  struck  bottom  and 


got  on  the  General  Staff ;  and  why,  being  stripped 
of  his  livery,  or  set  free  and  reinvested  with  his 
self-respect  by  any  other  quick  and  thorough  pro 
cess,  let  it  be  what  it  might,  he  should  wish  to  re 
turn  to  his  strange  serfage.  But  no  matter:  the 
estimate  put  upon  these  things  by  the  fifteen  hun 
dred  and  sixty  millions  is  no  proper  measure  of 
their  value:  the  proper  measure,  the  just  measure, 
is  that  which  is  put  upon  them  by  Dreyfus,  and  is 
cipherable  merely  upon  the  littleness  or  the  vast- 
ness  of  the  disappointment  which  their  loss  cost 
him. 

There  you  have  it :  the  measure  of  the  magni 
tude  of  a  dream-failure  is  the  measure  of  the  dis 
appointment  the  failure  cost  the  dreamer;  the 
value,  in  others'  eyes,  of  the  thing  lost,  has  noth 
ing  to  do  with  the  matter.  With  this  straightening- 
out  and  classification  of  the  dreamer's  position  to 
help  us,  perhaps  we  can  put  ourselves  in  his  place 
and  respect  his  dream — Dreyfus's,  and  the  dreams 
our  friends  have  cherished  and  reveal  to  us.  Some 
that  I  call  to  mind,  some  that  have  been  revealed 
to  me,  are  curious  enough  ;  but  we  may  not  smile 
at  them,  for  they  were  precious  to  the  dreamers, 
and  their  failure  has  left  scars  which  give  them 
dignity  and  pathos.  With  this  theme  in  my  mind, 
dear  heads  that  were  brown  when  they  and  mine 


39° 

were  young  together  rise  old  and  white  before  me 
now,  beseeching  me  to  speak  for  them,  and  most 
lovingly  will  I  do  it. 

Howells,  Hay,  Aldrich,  Matthews,  Stockton, 
Cable,  Remus — how  their  young  hopes  and  ambi 
tions  come  flooding  back  to  my  memory  now,  out 
of  the  vague  far  past,  the  beautiful  past,  the  la 
mented  past !  I  remember  it  so  well— that  night 
we  met  together — it  was  in  Boston,  and  Mr.  Fields 
was  there,  and  Mr.  Osgood,  and  Ralph  Keeler,  and 
Boyle  O'Reilly,  lost  to  us  now  these  many  years — 
and  under  the  seal  of  confidence  revealed  to  each 
other  what  our  boyhood  dreams  had  been  :  dreams 
which  had  not  as  yet  been  blighted,  but  over  which 
was  stealing  the  gray  of  the  night  that  was  to 
come  —  a  night  which  we  prophetically  felt,  and 
this  feeling  oppressed  us  and  made  us  sad.  I  re 
member  that  Howells's  voice  broke  twice,  and  it 
was  only  with  great  difficulty  that  he  was  able  to 
go  on  ;  in  the  end  he  wept.  For  he  had  hoped  to 
be  an  auctioneer.  He  told  of  his  early  struggles 
to  climb  to  his  goal,  and  how  at  last  he  attained  to 
within  a  single  step  of  the  coveted  summit.  But 
there  misfortune  after  misfortune  assailed  him,  and 
he  went  down,  and  down,  and  down,  until  now  at 
last,  weary  and  disheartened,  he  had  for  the  present 
given  up  the  struggle  and  become  editor  of  the 


Atlantic  Monthly.  This  was  in  1830.  Seventy 
years  are  gone  since,  and  where  now  is  his  dream  ? 
It  will  never  be  fulfilled.  And  it  is  best  so ;  he  is 
no  longer  fitted  for  the  position  ;  no  one  would 
take  him  now  ;  even  if  he  got  it,  he  would  not  be 
able  to  do  himself  credit  in  it,  on  account  of  his 
deliberateness  of  speech  and  lack  of  trained  pro 
fessional  vivacity ;  he  would  be  put  on  real  estate, 
and  would  have  the  pain  of  seeing  younger  and 
abler  men  intrusted  \vith  .the  furniture  and  other 
such  goods — goods  which  draw  a  mixed  and  intel 
lectually  low  order  of  customers,  who  must  be  be 
guiled  of  their  bids  by  a  vulgar  and  specialized 
humor  and  sparkle,  accompanied  with  antics. 

But  it  is  not  the  thing  lost  that  counts,  but  only 
the  disappointment  the  loss  brings  to  the  dreamer 
that  had  coveted  that  thing  and  had  set  his  heart 
of  hearts  upon  it,  and  when  we  remember  this,  a 
great  wave  of  sorrow  for  Howells  rises  in  our 
breasts,  and  we  wish  for  his  sake  that  his  fate  could 
have  been  different. 

At  that  time  Hay's  boyhood  dream  was  not  yet 
past  hope  of  realization,  but  it  was  fading,  dim 
ming,  wasting  away,  and  the  wind  of  a  growing 
apprehension  was  blowing  cold  over  the  perishing 
summer  of  his  life.  In  the  pride  of  his  young  am 
bition  he  had  aspired  to  be  a  steamboat  mate  ;  and 


392 

in  fancy  saw  himself  dominating  a  forecastle  some 
day  on  the  Mississippi  and  dictating  terms  to 
roustabouts  in  high  and  wounding  tones.  I  look 
back  now,  from  this  far  distance  of  seventy  years, 
and  note  with  sorrow  the  stages  of  that  dream's 
destruction.  Hay's  history  is  but  Howells's,  with 
differences  of  detail.  Hay  climbed  high  toward 
his  ideal ;  when  success  seemed  almost  sure,  his 
foot  upon  the  very  gang-plank,  his  eye  upon  the 
capstan,  misfortune  came  and  his  fall  began.  Down 
— down — down — ever  down  :  Private  Secretary  to 
the  President ;  Colonel  in  the  field  ;  Charge  d'Af- 
faires  in  Paris  ;  Charge  d'Affaires  in  Vienna  ;  Poet; 
Editor  of  the  Tribune;  Biographer  of  Lincoln; 
Ambassador  to  England  ;  and  now  at  last  there  he 
lies- -Secretary  of  State,  Head  0f  Foreign  Affairs. 
And  he  has  fallen  like  Lucifer,  never  to  rise  again. 
And  his  dream — where  now  is  his  dream  ?  Gone 
down  in  blood  and  tears  with  the  dream  of  the 
auctioneer. 

And  the  young  dream  of  Aldrich  —  where  is 
that?  I  remember  yet  how  he  sat  there  that  night 
fondling  it,  petting  it ;  seeing  it  recede  and  ever 
recede ;  trying  to  be  reconciled  and  give  it  up,  but 
not  able  yet  to  bear  the  thought ;  for  it  had  been 
his  hope  to  be  a  horse-doctor.  He  also  climbed 
high,  but,  like  the  others,  fell ;  then  fell  again, 


393 


and  yet  again,  and  again  and  again.  And  now  at 
last  he  can  fall  no  further.  He  is  old  now,  he  has 
ceased  to  struggle,  and  is  only  a  poet.  No  one 
would  risk  a  horse  with  him  now.  His  dream  is 
over. 

Has  any  boyhood  dream  ever  been  fulfilled  ?  I 
must  doubt  it.  Look  at  Brander  Matthews.  He 
wanted  to  be  a  cowboy.  What  is  he  to-day? 
Nothing  but  a  professor  in  a  university.  Will  he 
ever  be  a  cowboy  ?  It  is  hardly  conceivable. 

Look  at  Stockton.  What  was  Stockton's  young 
dream  ?  He  hoped  to  be  a  barkeeper.  See  where 
he  has  landed. 

Is  it  better  with  Cable?  What  was  Cable's 
young  dream?  To  be  ring-master  in  the  circus, 
and  swell  around  and  crack  the  whip.  What  is  he 
to-day?  Nothing  but  a  theologian  and  novelist. 

And  Uncle  Remus — what  was  his  young  dream  ? 
To  be  a  buccaneer.  Look  at  him  now. 

Ah,  the  dreams  of  our  youth,  how  beautiful  they 
are,  and  how  perishable !  The  ruins  of  these 
might-have-beens,  how  pathetic  !  The  heart-secrets 
that  were  revealed  that  night  now  so  long  vanished, 
how  they  touch  me  as  I  give  them  voice  !  Those 
sweet  privacies,  how  they  endeared  us  to  each 
other !  We  were  under  oath  never  to  tell  any  of 
these  things,  and  I  have  always  kept  that  oath  in- 


394 

violate  when  speaking  with  persons  whom  I  thought 
not  worthy  to  hear  them. 

Oh,  our  lost  Youth — God  keep  its  memory  green 
in  our  hearts !  for  Age  is  upon  us,  with  the  indig 
nity  of  its  infirmities,  and  Death  beckons ! 

TO  THE  ABOVE  OLD  PEOPLE 

Sleep !  for  the  Sun  that  scores  another  Day 
Against  the  Tale  allotted  You  to  stay, 

Reminding  You,  is  Risen,  and  now 
Serves  Notice — ah,  ignore  it  while  You  may ! 

The  chill  Wind  blew,  and  those  who  stood  before 
The  Tavern  murmured,  "  Having  drunk  his  Score, 

Why  tarries  He  with  empty  Cup  ?     Behold, 
The  Wine  of  Youth  once  poured,  is  poured  no  more. 

"  Come,  leave  the  Cup,  and  on  the  Winter's  Snow 
Your  Summer  Garment  of  Enjoyment  throw  : 

Your  Tide  of  Life  is  ebbing  fast,  and  it, 
Exhausted  once,  for  You  no  more  shall  flow." 

While  yet  the  Phantom  of  false  Youth  was  mine, 
I  heard  a  Voice  from  out  the  Darkness  whine, 

"  O  Youth,  O  whither  gone  ?     Return, 
And  bathe  my  Age  in  thy  reviving  Wine." 

In  thjs  subduing  Draught  of  tender  green 
And  kindly  Absinth,  with  its  wimpling  Sheen 

Of  dusky  half-lights,  let  me  drown 
The  haunting  Pathos  of  the  Might-Have-Been. 


395 


For  every  nickeled  Joy,  marred  and  brief, 
We  pay  some  day  its  Weight  in  golden  Grief 
Mined  from  our  Hearts.     Ah,  murmur  not — 
From  this  one-sided  Bargain  dream  of  no  Relief ! 

The  Joy  of  Life,  that  streaming  through  their  Veins 
Tumultuous  swept,  falls  slack — and  wanes 
The  Glory  in  the  Eye — and  one  by  one 
Life's  Pleasures  perish  and  make  place  for  Pains. 

Whether  one  hide  in  some  secluded  Nook — 
Whether  at  Liverpool  or  Sandy  Hook — 

Tis  one.     Old  Age  will  search  him  out — and  He— 
He — He — when  ready  will  know  where  to  look. 

From  Cradle  unto  Grave  I  keep  a  House 
Of  Entertainment  where  may  drowse 

Bacilli  and  kindred  Germs— or  feed— or  breed 
Their  festering  Species  in  a  deep  Carouse. 

Think— in  this  battered  Caravanserai, 
Whose  Portals  open  stand  all  Night  and  Day, 
How  Microbe  after  Microbe  with  his  Pomp 
Arrives  unasked,  and  comes  to  stay. 

Our  ivory  Teeth,  confessing  to  the  Lust 
Of  masticating,  once,  now  own  Disgust 

Of  Clay-plug'd  Cavities — full  soon  our  Snags 
Are  emptied,  and  our  Mouths  are  filled  with  Dust. 

Our  Gums  forsake  the  Teeth  and  tender  grow, 
And  fat,  like  over-ripened  Figs — we  know 

The  Sign — the  Riggs  Disease  is  ours,  and  we 
Must  list  this  Sorrow,  add  another  Woe  : 


396 


Our  Lungs  begin  to  fail  and  soon  we  Cough, 
And  chilly  Streaks  play  up  our  Backs,  and  off 
Our  fever'd  Foreheads  drips  an  icy  Sweat — 
We  scoffed  before,  but  now  we  may  not  scoff. 

Some  for  the  Bunions  that  afflict  us  prate 
Of  Plasters  unsurpassable,  and  hate 

To  cut  a  Corn — ah  cut,  and  let  the  Plaster  go, 
Nor  murmur  if  the  Solace  come  too  late. 

Some  for  the  Honors  of  Old  Age,  and  some 
Long  for  its  Respite  from  the  Hum 

And  Clash  of  sordid  Strife— O  Fools, 
The  Past  should  teach  them  what's  to  Come  : 

Lo,  for  the  Honors,  cold  Neglect  instead ! 
For  Respite,  disputations  Heirs  a  Bed 

Of  Thorns  for  them  will  furnish.     Go, 
Seek  not  Here  for  Peace — but  Yonder — with  the  Dead. 

For  whether  Zal  and  Rustam  heed  this  Sign, 
And  even  smitten  thus,  will  not  repine, 

Let  Zal  and  Rustam  shuffle  as  they  may, 
The  Fine  once  levied  they  must  Cash  the  Fine. 

O  Voices  of  the  Long  Ago  that  were  so  dear ! 
Fall'n  Silent,  now,  for  many  a  Mould'ring  Year, 

O  whither  are  ye  flown  ?     Come  back, 
And  break  my  Heart,  but  bless  my  grieving  ear. 

Some  happy  Day  my  Voice  will  Silent  fall, 
And  answer  not  when  some  that  love  it  call : 

Be  glad  for  Me  when  this  you  note— and  think 
I've  found  the  Voices  lost,  beyond  the  Pall. 


397 


So  let  me  grateful  drain  the  Magic  Bowl 
That  medicines  hurt  Minds  and  on  the  Soul 
The  Healing  of  its  Peace  doth  lay— if  then 
Death  claim  me — Welcome  be  his  Dole  ! 

SANNA,  SWEDEN,  September  i^th. 

Private. — If  you  don't  know  what  Riggs's  Disease  of  the  Teeth 
is,  the  dentist  will  tell  you.  I've  had  it  —  and  it  is  more  than 
interesting.  S.  L.  C. 

EDITORIAL  NOTE 


Fearing  that  there  might  be  some  mistake,  we  submitted 
a  proof  of  this  article  to  the  (American)  gentlemen  named 
in  it,  and  asked  them  to  correct  any  errors  of  detail  that 
might  have  crept  in  among  the  facts.  They  reply  with 
some  asperity  that  errors  cannot  creep  in  among  facts  where 
there  are  no  facts  for  them  to  creep  in  among ;  and  that 
none  are  discoverable  in  this  article,  but  only  baseless  aber 
rations  of  a  disordered  mind.  They  have  no  recollection 
of  any  such  night  in  Boston,  nor  elsewhere;  and  in  their 
opinion  there  was  never  any  such  night.  They  have  met 
Mr.  Twain,  but  have  had  the  prudence  not  to  intrust  any 
privacies  to  him — particularly  under  oath  ;  and  they  think 
they  now  see  that  this  prudence  was  justified,  since  he  has 
been  untrustworthy  enough  to  even  betray  privacies  which 
had  no  existence.  Further,  they  think  it  a  strange  thing 
that  Mr.  Twain,  who  was  never  invited  to  meddle  with 
anybody's  boyhood  dreams  but  his  own,  has  been  so  gratui 
tously  anxious  to  see  that  other  peoples  are  placed  before 
the  world  that  he  has  quite  lost  his  head  in  his  zeal  and 
forgotten  to  make  any  mention  of  his  own  at  all.  Provided 
we  insert  this  explanation,  they  are  willing  to  let  his  article 


398 


pass;  otherwise  they  must  require  its  suppression  in  the 
interest  of  truth.  • 

P.  S. — These  replies  having  left  us  in  some  perplexity, 
and  also  in  some  fear  lest  they  might  distress  Mr.  Twain 
if  published  without  his  privity,  we  judged  it  but  fair  to 
submit  them  to  him  and  give  him  an  opportunity  to  defend 
himself  But  he  does  not  seem  to  be  troubled,  or  even 
aware  that  he  is  in'a  delicate  situation.  He  merely  says : 

"  Do  not  worry  about  those  former  young  people  They 
can  write  good  literature,  but  when  it  comes  to  speaking 
the  truth,  they  have  not  had  my  training. — MARK  TWAIN." 

The  last  sentence  seems  obscure,  and  liable  to  an  un 
fortunate  construction.  It  plainly  needs  refashioning,  but 
we  cannot  take  the  responsibility  of  doing  it — EDITOR. 


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PETER  IBBETSON.  With  an  Introduction  by  his  Cousin, 
Lady  ****  ("Madge  Plunket").  Edited  and  Illustrated  by 
GEORGE  DU  MAURIER.  Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  50. 
Three-quarter  Calf,  $3  25  ;  Three-quarter  Crushed  Levant, 
$4  25. 

ENGLISH  SOCIETY.  Sketched  by  GEORGE  DU  MAURIER. 
About  100  Illustrations.  With  an  Introduction  by  W.  D. 
HOWELLS.  Oblong  4to,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $2  50. 

Mr.  du  Manner's  style  has  much  distinction  —  a  blending  of  refine 
ment  and  unconventionality  that  is  delightful.  It  is  vehemently  alive, 
moreover;  there  is  not  a  word  which  could  be  spared  without  marring 
the  effect,  not  a  line  which  does  not  fall  into  rank  with  vigorous  step. 
It  lias  poetic  grace,  too,  a  musical  and  witching  rhythm  here  and  there. — 
New  York  Tribune. 


HARPER   &   BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

of  the  above  works  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any 
part  of  the  United  States,  Canada,  or  Mexico,  on  r^eipt  of  the  price, 


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